


Home Ground Advantage

by Vialana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Canon, Background Sheriff/Melissa, Case Fic, Character Death, Deputy Derek Hale, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Minor drug abuse, Nightmares, Paranormal Crime, Self-Medication, background Boyd/Erica, background Scott/Kira
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:32:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vialana/pseuds/Vialana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After graduation, Scott and Kira embark on a round-the-world trip and abandon Stiles to the mundanity of Beacon Hills and a summer job before graduate school. While this does mean he gets to spend time with his father and tease him about his new relationship with Melissa, it also helps reinforce the fact that Stiles has not had much romantic luck himself recently.</p><p>Enter Derek Hale, the new frontrunner for the hottest deputy of Beacon County award. Attractive, grouchy, sharp, sarcastic and taken.</p><p>(Also a werewolf — not that Stiles cares about that sort of thing.)</p><p>However, the last thing Derek needs in his life is a gorgeous smart-mouthed post-grad showing up everywhere he looks — not that he’s actively looking, but Stiles is pretty hard to miss even on a busy day. He just wishes most of the run-ins with his boss’ son didn’t end with either a warning or fastened handcuffs. Derek just can’t take the chance that the upswing in supernaturally inclined crime is only coincidental to Stiles’ arrival back in town — especially when Stiles keeps showing up at the scene of said crimes, often with no memory of how he got there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The tagged character death is for a minor character off-screen and one major character (Neither Stiles nor Derek). I will warn about it again in the beginning notes of the relevant chapters and mention the character’s identity in the end notes of the chapter. This is not a deathfic, hence I did not use Ao3’s warning tag. If you feel that was wrong, please let me know.
> 
> All of the pairings listed have sex scenes; I don’t tag for specific sexual acts/positions. This story is really not about sex. I will increase the rating as necessary but I don’t expect that it will be. Again, please let me know if you feel it should be changed.
> 
> This is not a dark fic though there are some horror elements to the story. This fic also involves a few tropes and I will not apologise for that. (However, if the tropes do fall towards cliche then feel free to berate me in the comments if you find it irksome as I did try to avoid it.)
> 
> I haven’t posted a multi-chapter fic in years, so I do apologise if chapters are not released in a timely fashion though they should be quite regular.
> 
> Please enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles returns to Beacon Hills.

It was just before midnight when Stiles’ jeep passed the Welcome To Beacon County sign on the highway. There was still miles of twisting residential roads after the long wooded turnoff before he reached his childhood home but the marker was a welcome reassurance after two days on the road. The impenetrable woods walling the turnoff were another sight he hadn’t realised he was missing until he was immersed in the creepily comforting scenery. It definitely beat the hundreds of consecutive miles of brown scrubland he’d seen over the last two days. Recent weather had not been kind to the Midwest, though there had been patches of travel time that were pleasant but not pleasant enough to displace the stench of sweat and unhealthy road snacks from the inside of the jeep.

Stiles was practically bouncing in his seat by the time he pulled up to his house — far too ready to stretch his legs and relieve himself and shower before hugging his father for five days straight. The porch light was illuminated but no police cruiser was parked in the drive. Stiles had to fumble for his key as he stumbled up to the front door.

A piece of paper was on the kitchen table — noticeable only because a space had deliberately made amidst the piles of casework and that embarrassing excuse for a pottery assignment from eighth grade that his father refused to throw away sat atop to stop the note vanishing into the surrounding chaos.

 

_Stiles,_

_Called in for sudden case. Don’t wait up._

_Melissa made cupcakes. We’ll celebrate properly tomorrow._

_Welcome home._

_Love Dad_

 

Stiles held the note to his lips and tried to breathe in his father’s scent from the paper but it just smelled like the kitchen. Enough of the house was permeated with the scent of his father’s cologne and their usual cleaning products that it wasn’t necessary but Stiles suddenly felt like he was much younger and in need of one of his father’s hugs. The note would have to suffice until the morning.

The overnight bag on his shoulder seemed to weigh more heavily and Stiles couldn’t contemplate sneaking one of the promised cupcakes or even the shower he had been desperately imagining for the last two states. He definitely didn’t want to think about unpacking his belongings from the overstuffed jeep. He made his way upstairs, trailing his hand over the banister, and left his bag in the doorway to his bedroom before heading to the bathroom to piss and pay at least cursory attention to his hygiene.

His room had not changed since the end of high school. It was something he noticed every time he came for a visit; but this time he was not home a visit for the holiday or between semesters or work. It had been four years since Stiles had occupied this space with any sort of permanency and the difference between that teenager and the man standing on the threshold to his childhood was startling in its sudden clarity.

Even clean and stored, the room had a sense of frenetic energy and brimming chaos — the haphazardly stacked books and piles of old assignments and midnight research binges crowding the bookshelves between framed pictures and awards and odd knickknacks. Faded posters bled into each other over his bedhead and the bedcover — while still a perfect texture and weight — was loud with jagged patterns.

Lying on his old bed, trying to make himself comfortable with the familiar/unfamiliar feeling of the mattress beneath him, Stiles closed his eyes and tried to turn his mind off and not get tangled in his nostalgia as his exhausted body started locking down for the night.

He was asleep before he could work out whether being back in his time-capsule room made him feel happy or not.

 

 

 

Stiles’ first morning back living in Beacon Hills began with the pancakes and syrup. It was only nine but he was already up and dashing downstairs before he could form a coherent thought. His father must have heard him bruising the floor and had turned away from the stove, ready with a smile and open arms. Stiles slid into his father’s embrace with enough force to make them both stumble and worry about catching alight.

His father’s hug was exactly as warm and firm and reassuring as he remembered.

They only broke apart when the smell of burning batter started to overwhelm the kitchen.

It was only after they had stuffed themselves with fluffy pancakes and maple syrup and too much coffee (Stiles was absolutely not going to say a word about his father’s diet today; he could worry tomorrow) that Stiles noticed his father was already showered and dressed in a clean uniform.

“I thought you weren’t on shift today?” Stiles wasn’t going to be disappointed; he was an adult, dammit, he understood responsibility.

His father tried to hide a wince. “Sorry, kiddo. There was a call-in at midnight for a weird case. I wanted to have a look through some old files before my deputies came in for a follow up this afternoon. It’s not a full shift. We’re still on for dinner tonight.”

Stiles really did understand after years of watching his father work. He let it go. If only because there was something more interesting to nag his father about. “Dinner. Awesome. So, Melissa’s going to be there, right?”

Stiles grinned at his father’s blush. “You said you were okay with that.”

“Oh, I am. So is Scott.”

“But you’re not above teasing.”

“It’s like you know me.” Stiles laughed as his father reached over to ruffle his hair with a little more force than usual. “You’ll be careful?” Stiles asked, automatically, as his father rose and straightened his uniform.

“Always. Love you, kiddo. Glad you’re home.”

“Me too. Love you, dad.”

Stiles waited until he heard the cruiser start up before he got up from the table and collected their breakfast dishes for cleaning.

It _was_ good to be home.

 

 

 

The woods were not quite as daunting in the morning light. Stiles hadn’t exactly forgot how much he enjoyed his home town but Chicago was just such a _city_ — bright lights, bars, live music, people (so many people) — that it was easy to to get caught up even when he wasn’t busy with college coursework. Without any coursework to worry about and a serious need to decompress after the hell of senior year, Stiles could actually take his time doing nothing but walking along a dappled path in the woods. It was picturesque and fresh and Stiles cannot fathom how he existed for four years without a regular ramble in Nor Cal woods. His feet remembered old childhood paths before his memory caught up and he smiled at a waist high carving of his and Scott’s initials on a huge tree. He didn’t quite know what the future held but, for now, Stiles was really glad to be home.

The morning was still cool and Stiles didn’t have anything more pressing to do so he kept walking, veering from the path but staying aware of his relative position to his jeep. The woods grew quiet and the shade deepened. He recalled his father’s old warnings and his mother’s outrageous folk tales. But the undergrowth was not thick and Stiles was following a wide deer trail so he pushed the stories towards the back of his mind.

Just as he thought about turning back and getting started on sorting through the belongings he’d dumped from the jeep into the living room, Stiles came across a clearing.

It was completely silent, not just the muffled quiet of the previous path. The light seemed wan and cold despite sunlight engulfing the entire the clearing. There was no undergrowth and the trees shrank and leaned away from the centre where a huge stump rose, its thick roots causing the ground to crack in spiraling spiderwebs.

Stiles had never been here before — he definitely would have remembered stumbling across this sort of scenery on his drunken teenage jaunts. Knowing him, he would have spent nights slumped over the wide stump sleeping off his intoxication and bruising himself on the roots as he rolled off the impromptu bed in the morning. For some reason, though, the clearing was inspiring familiarity. Not the same as the drive home or the position of the morning light when waking up in the morning in his old bed; more like the scent of a summer past blowing through an open window. Stiles found himself halfway to the stump before he realised he was walking.

It should be creepy — mysterious dead spot he’d never seen before in the middle of the woods Stiles had grown up exploring — but Stiles kept walking. It wasn’t as silent as he’d first thought; a low hum, like the background whisper of summer crickets on a cool day, engulfed him the closer he came.

The wood was warm and smooth against his palm. It was ridiculous — not least because it was a stump, not a tree — but the wood felt alive.

Stiles should be halfway back home by now, gulping air and massaging tense muscles resulting from the terrified running. But, instead of doing something sensible like backing away from the magic dead tree, he moved even closer — close enough to climb up and sit comfortably cross-legged atop the stump. He couldn’t explain why he did it but it felt right; his breathing slowed and muscles relaxed. Stiles was calm and not at all concerned about the strange influence of this place.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sunlight warming his eyelids.

 

 

 

“What are you doing here?”

Stiles jerked out of his meditative not-doze and almost fell off the stump. The gruff question had come from behind. He twisted uncomfortably and stared at the intruder — not that he was actually doing anything wrong, this was public land, but it felt like an intrusion nonetheless.

It took a moment to identify the attractive jogger — if only because Stiles had to force himself to look away from the thick thighs encased in skin-tight exercise-friendly material and then try not to whimper as his gaze drew up over the long tank that perfectly outlined sculpted abdominal and pectoral muscles. The dark hair and piercing eyes were an immediate giveaway and, though he hadn’t seen the older man since he was a teenager, Stiles recognised Derek Hale.

Apparently his gawking was not only noticeable but lengthy and Derek had stalked closer, that intense gaze shifting to a dark glare. Stiles scrambled to his feet and off the stump in reaction before he realised he didn’t need to. He stood his ground and returned the glare — probably not quite as angry as Derek’s but Stiles could do annoyed pretty well.

“Well?” Those eyebrows were impressive in their ability to communicate.

Stiles knew how to play this to best effect. “Well, what?”

“What are you doing here?” Derek didn’t seem to enjoy having to repeat himself.

“Sitting. Napping. Enjoying the atmosphere. You’d probably know better seeing as you were awake watching me longer than I knew you were there.”

Derek ignored the implied commentary. “You can’t be here.”

Stiles frowned. “This isn’t Hale land.”

“No, but there have been some severe animal attacks recently. Mountain lion.”

“This close to town?” Stiles was surprised his father hadn’t mentioned anything but maybe that was what last night’s call had been about.

“It was a harsh winter. Warnings have been going out for a few weeks now.”

“I just got in last night.”

Derek wasn’t sure what to do with that. “Well, you know now.” It was almost cute how awkward he looked when not glaring. “You should head back. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Stiles agreed, if only because the sound of being torn to pieces and chewed on by a mountain lion did not sound at all appealing. Nothing to do with a sweaty attractive man walking him back to his car as though chivalry was revived from the dead without the sexist overtones. That Stiles spent most of his time on the walk staring low at the view of Derek leading him out of the woods rather than keeping watch for large predators was just a happy coincidence.

It only occurred to him halfway back to his jeep to ask about Derek’s own solitary foray.

“So, I know you grew up out here and all but why are you less likely to be attacked than me?”

“Aside from the fact that growing up out here taught me how to recognise signs of a predator close by?” In answer, Derek reached behind and pulled up his shirt to reveal a gun tucked in his waistband.

Okay, Stiles had to admit how completely distracting Derek was that he’d missed that — those pants were ridiculously tight and he’d been looking in that vicinity. He also refused to admit that the weapon made him feel more secure. Derek’s muscles were glorious but Stiles was glad he wouldn’t have to rely only on Derek’s hand-to-hand skills against a mountain lion should it come to that.

Not that Derek seemed particularly worried, moving through the undergrowth with an ease that bordered on precognitive. He brushed branches aside long enough for Stiles to pass and held an arm out to guide Stiles away from rough patches on the trail. All without even looking at Stiles or the ground or anything, really. Instead, Derek’s gaze roamed, head twitching occasionally in one direction then another as though listening for something.

Now that Stiles was less preoccupied with watching Derek _walk_ , he started to notice how Derek _moved_ and it inspired some very interesting questions. Especially the sniffing. It was a minor action but repetitive. Anyone who wasn’t specifically looking for it might not have noticed. For Stiles, it was confirmation of a question he hadn’t realised he was forming in the back of his mind since Derek first appeared.

They arrived back at the service road where Stiles had parked before he could actually confirm his suspicions.

“Well, thanks.” Stiles lingered, despite Derek’s unsubtle shuffling towards the jeep.

“If you grew up around here, you should know better.” Derek waved him insistently away.

Stiles scowled as he tugged at the driver’s side door. It always stuck. “Next time I’ll make sure to call you up for an escort if I feel like getting frisky with nature.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he turned and started walking away. “You know what they say: abstinence is the best protection.”

“But nowhere near as enjoyable.” Stiles couldn’t be sure but it seemed like Derek was a bit far away to have heard his quiet retort. Yet, he was shaking his head as he walked towards the trail leading towards the Hale property. Stiles had to know if he was right in his suspicions.

One last test; a whisper as Derek reached the treeline, “And definitely not as exciting as with a werewolf.”

Derek’s head shot up and he spun around to stare at Stiles in shock.

The jeep decided that now would be a great time to cooperate and Stiles nearly fell as he pulled too hard on the door. He straightened himself, gave Derek a cheeky wave, and clambered up into the driver’s seat.

In the second between Stiles climbing into his seat and moving to turn the ignition, Derek had vanished from immediate sight. Stiles’ grin shifted to a smug smile.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad coming back to Beacon Hills.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles adjusts to life back home.

Stiles had no idea how he had collected so much stuff at college. Looking at the boxes and bags and makeshift containers spilling onto the couch and armchairs and that ratty old rug he and his father couldn’t bear to get rid of, Stiles had to wince. Everything here was already less than what he’d culled from his and Scott’s apartment. Stiles could have sworn he’d made sure to keep only the most necessary, useful and sentimental things. Maybe he was a bit too lenient with himself in his definition of sentimental because somehow that pink straw cowboy hat from freshman year was sitting proudly atop his mountain of memorabilia despite the fact that it was ripped and stained and not actually functional as a hat any more — not that anyone outside of a college freshman or a prospective groom at his bachelor party could wear it in public.

He couldn’t leave it all here and just moan about it, though, so Stiles started with what he knew he could pack away and grabbed the bags full of clothing and hoisted them upstairs and emptied them on his bed.

Stiles was halfway through sorting and folding when he heard the alert from his laptop for a video call. Abandoning his work entirely, he tripped over a pair of pants as he rushed to answer it.

“Scotty!”

Scott looked as good as anyone could over a free video service. He was smiling though. “Miss me yet?”

“It’s an ache I cannot describe.”

“You always say the sweetest things. Seriously though man, how is Beacon Hills?” Scott was sitting in a kitchen somewhere in Japan with some crazy stainless steel appliance looming over his shoulder. Stiles tried not to stare at it directly and focused on Scott’s inquisitive face.

“Uh, surprisingly unchanged. Dad looks good, tired, but not stressed. We’re having dinner with your mom tonight.”

“You’ll give ‘em hell for me, right?”

“Dude, it’s the first time I’m being introduced to the new girlfriend. Of course I’ll give ‘em hell.”

They shared a laugh and Scott started on a story about him and Kira and something adorable and fun they’d done together as tourists. Stiles soaked up the attention of his best friend, desperately wanting to nudge him at parts of the story and then wrap him in a hug as he was saying goodbye. He managed a small wave and a grin for Kira as she popped into view to tell Scott that their ride was going to leave without them if he took much longer. They signed off with ‘miss you’s and a ‘have fun’ from Stiles.

Stiles sat staring at his laptop until the screen went dark then he pushed himself up and went back to sorting his belongings.

 

 

 

Dinner was fun. Stiles watched his father and Melissa bickering as they cooked. They got in each others’ way and his dad put too much salt into the casserole but they were smiling and all three of them finished off a nice bottle of wine as Stiles caught them up on the more parent-friendly anecdotes of senior year. There was teasing, of course, but Melissa cut it short by threatening to take Stiles’ desert from him. Melissa made amazing pies; he caved. Scott would understand.

Stiles excused himself after dessert to finish unpacking. He had to stop at the top of the stairs to smile down at the picture the two of them made curled into each other on the couch as they whispered to each other about the movie. His heart ached with an old sadness but overall he was so happy for them.

Upstairs, his room was still in disarray. He’d need another day just to reorganise his shelves and drawers but he also already had a pile of things to be thrown out in preparation for this new stage in his life. It wasn’t like winning a championship game or anything, but Stiles felt accomplished nonetheless.

He lay on his bed and soaked in the wild feelings of the day. He didn’t remember dreaming that night.

 

 

 

Restlessness was not a good look for Stiles. The first few days sorting through his stuff and reacclimatising himself to living with his dad again were good and very necessary (the shouting match they got into about milk that third morning was best left to their neighbours’ memories). He knew, however, that he was going to have to start making a proper adult life for himself sooner rather than later.

Stiles and Scott had rented their own apartment in college — sure it was tiny and the bathroom was ancient and their building was kind of crumbling but it was theirs and they were responsible for everything. Stiles was used to frantically scheduling his time around classes and jobs and intermittent naps in order to pay for everything while not failing classes. That sort of life meant he was unused to sitting still (arguably, Stiles had never been good at that). He still had months before he would start his postgrad studies; the quiet idleness of his current life was going to drive him insane long before then.

He had finished unpacking and continued on from there by cleaning the house so thoroughly it was going to smell of artificial lemons and lavender for weeks. His jeep was sparkling and the garage was less of a nightmare to walk into now. Stiles had even tried his hand at cooking — they had enough ready meals for at least a week and Stiles knew half the reason behind that was so he had an excuse to get out of the house and go grocery shopping to replace what he’d used.

Part of the problem with his anxiousness was that he hadn’t heard anything yet from the jobs he’d applied for online. There had been a few rejections but mostly silence. Stiles was not a patient person; give him a good reason to sit down and pay attention and he could stare down a kettle waiting to boil, but if he was just waiting aimlessly then Stiles was a very unpleasant person to be around.

It was Scott who reminded him of something obvious.

“Hey, so _The Beacon_ is still the only good newspaper in town, right?” No one talks about _The Hills Herald_ , not with any seriousness anyway. Unless you were looking at the horoscopes; those were always eerily accurate.

Stiles shrugged, tossing a baseball he’d found while cleaning into the air as he twirled in his desk chair. He didn’t even know why he had it — he'd never played baseball. “Yeah, why?”

“Well, I was thinking of putting in an announcement, you know, like the aristocrats do in England. _Lord Whatshisface from Randomshire is engaged to be married to Lady_ _——_ ”

The baseball dropped from slack fingers as Stiles crowded up to the screen. “Holy shit dude!”

Scott grinned, his enthusiasm practically blinding the grainy feed. “I know! I cried. She cried. I almost puked. We were kicked out of the restaurant. I almost dropped the ring down a storm drain. It was a stressful evening.”

“Tell me everything!”

Scott detailed his eventful proposal to an avid audience — Kira joining him to correct a few details and show off the ring and her near-permanent smile. Stiles couldn’t even think about his discontent amidst all the laughter and congratulations and happiness. Scott had been planning and worrying for so long but Kira’s gleeful yes made all of it worthwhile. Stiles smugly pointed out to Kira where Scott had taken his advice on certain things which led to a minor argument about the accuracy and necessity of Stiles’ research into marriage trends while Kira laughed at them both.

Later, Stiles grimaced as he searched through _The Beacon_ ’s incredibly outdated website for announcement submissions. All submissions, the website read, had to be delivered with the correct fee in money order by phone, mail or in person to the main office in Beacon Hills. Including job adverts.

Beacon Hills had a small town mentality despite being large enough to have a sheriff’s office, two hospitals and a university campus within the town boundaries. It stood to reason then that what job vacancies were available in Beacon Hills would be more likely to be advertised in the local paper — or even in store windows — rather than in online databases.

Rejuvenated, Stiles updated and printed off a few copies of his resume then went downstairs to pull apart the newspaper his father was currently reading for the positions vacant pages.

 

 

 

Walking around town applying for jobs the old-fashioned way was both more successful and more difficult than applying online. While Stiles could get an answer straight away and move on (most people were honest about wanting someone for longer or different hours than Stiles was willing to commit to with his upcoming post grad studies) he also couldn’t be as discriminating about his application choices given the scarcity of jobs for his skill levels. That said, it was also easy enough to avoid the few jobs he would not be submitting an application for (three coffee shops had openings but Stiles’ stint in freshman year at an upscale cafe made it clear that barista was not the safest choice of career for him or any cafe’s customers).

It was late morning on the third day of dedicated walk-the-street job hunting when Stiles stumbled upon the magic shop. He could only tell it was a magic shop because of the sign — the silhouette of a witch flying away on her broom outlined by a full moon with a speech bubble following her with the shop’s name: _Brew-ha-ha!_ Although, given that the windows didn’t have a view of anything but closed purple curtains, the shop could be selling anything. Regardless, it was interesting enough to take a break from the job hunt to check out.

An old fashioned bell rang above the door as Stiles entered. The shop was cluttered and kind of stuffy, the scents of various herbs battling to overpower each other in the air. Stiles almost tripped over a pewter bowl decorated with carved cats while trying to avoid a scented candle display that was leaning precariously. Despite the unsafe walking space and the unwelcoming store front, a few people browsed the wares on display.

They had some interesting items: the usual sort of alternative lifestyle accoutrements like meditation aids and hemp woven everything, but also jars of herbs on display alongside the prepackaged incense and essential oils. One wall was lined with books of all descriptions — they even had a small selection of popular paranormal romance mixed in with their religious texts and cookbooks. There was just enough reality to the store mixed in with the expected commercialisation of minority religious lifestyles and crystal wind chimes and bracelets that Stiles was actually kind of excited.

(He was disappointed with the lack of stage magic kits and costumes, though; if Stiles were running this place he would absolutely capitalise on that glorious pun in the store name and have a section dedicated to magic tricks and joke kits.)

As he moved to pass the incense display, a woman almost knocked him over.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she backed into him from a crouch looking at the different options.

“No problem.” Stiles smiled. She was pretty but looked kind of stressed — her brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail and wearing the same exhausted expression and wrinkled scrubs that Melissa would always have after a shift. Stiles looked down at the sticks and cones in her hands and winced. “Tough day at work or bad breakup?”

She looked up at him in surprise, as though she hadn’t really registered him properly before despite the collision. “You can tell?”

"Well, individually some of those are great for relaxation but you’ve also got a few meant for cleansing and peace and while I know that could also help you out with dealing with your job too I know you can't use that sort of stuff at a hospital and you've got a really obvious tan line on your ring finger."

The woman stared at him as he trailed off, only glancing once down at her finger.

Stiles winced. "Sorry, that was weird and intrusive. My dad's a cop and I have obscure interests like aromatherapy. My enthusiasm encourages bad habits."

"It's okay." Stiles looked up to see her smiling. "Well, it was weird and intrusive, yes, but I understand the enthusiasm. I still talk my friends' ears off about my old thesis topic." At Stiles' inquisitive look she elaborated with a too-casual shrug, "Thalassemia."

"Wow. So you specialise in genetic diseases?"

She looked thrilled that Stiles seemed to know enough to engage in further conversation. Her eyes were bright as she nodded. "Well, I'm still an intern but I am aiming to specialise in blood disorders."

“Impressive but, yeah, you’re gonna need some of those for that kind of career.” Stiles gestured to her arms.

“Yeah.” She looked down at her potential purchases and stuck her tongue out. “I’m not entirely sure I believe in all of this but I’ve read papers about alternative therapies and I’m willing to give anything an honest shot. I’m Caitlin, by the way.” She shuffled her items around as though to stick out her hand but thought better of the idea when they threatened to spill out of her hold.

“Stiles.” He gave a small wave in lieu of a handshake. “Do you mind if I offer some suggestions?”

“Please. I was probably going to spend all morning changing my mind and thinking this was a stupid idea before you almost knocked me over.” She grinned as he pretended to glare at the insinuation that their meeting was a result of his clumsiness.

“Okay. First of all, I bet you don’t even like half of these and you definitely won’t need all of them anyway. You want to enjoy this rejuvenation, not think you have to endure it in order to make yourself feel happier. Positivity is key, so lets find scents you actually like or aren’t utterly repulsed by at least and work from there.”

Stiles was worried that he was pushing too hard with his lecture mode but Caitlin seemed to react well to his often-rambling commentary and earnest motivation, nodding and making inquiries for clarification when he rambled too far off-topic. She let him pluck a few of her choices from her hands and push a few more into them, doubling up on a few scents she seemed to enjoy. He paid attention to her preferences and quickly dashed to the leaning scented candle display to snag a few candles and, by the time they made their way to the register, Caitlin seemed far less tired and worn than her first impression.

Stiles was still gesticulating the difference between traditional Chinese and Indian incense making techniques as the cashier rang up Caitlin’s purchases that it wasn’t until the cashier called the total that Stiles paid any attention.

Caitlin smiled as she handed over her money to Isaac Lahey — whom Stiles hadn’t seen since high school and never really thought about during his college absence. Caitlin turned back to him with a frown and Stiles realised he’d stopped talking mid-sentence and Isaac smirked at him from behind the counter. Stiles remembered why he’d never really liked Isaac much despite the fact they had quite a few classes and lacrosse in common.

“Sorry.” Stiles turned his attention back to Caitlin and ran his fingers through his hair. “I told you I let my mouth get ahead of me all the time.”

Caitlin smiled. “Don’t worry about it. At least you have something interesting to say.”

Stiles laughed and looked down, trying not to blush. His eyes caught on the tan line on Caitlin’s ring finger as she settled her bag against her leg and he ignored the familiar feeling of attraction tightening his gut and held out his hand. “Well, it was wonderful meeting you Caitlin.”

Caitlin clasped his hand firmly. “You too Stiles. Thank you for your help.” She released his hand and smiled warmly, then spared a smaller smile and a nod for Isaac before she left the store.

Stiles stared at the door a moment too long because Isaac cleared his throat deliberately. Stiles glared at him before turning around and coming face to face with another old schoolmate.

“Holy ——” Stiles cut himself off with a muffled curse as he jumped back, almost toppling a display of woven bracelets. Cora Hale didn’t move, still far too close to Stiles’ personal space for any level of comfort. “Is the lurking hereditary?”

Cora raised an eyebrow, her expression the same unimpressed look Stiles had learned to loathe in high school. She was one of the few people he could never get a read on.

“Tomorrow morning at eight.”

“What?” Stiles looked to Isaac for help but he just mockingly mirrored Cora and raised his own eyebrow.

“You’re looking for a job.” Stiles pulled at the strap on his bag as she reached out to snag one of the copies of his resume sticking out of the open top. “You found one. Don’t be late.”

“What?” Cora just rolled her eyes and pushed past Isaac to disappear into the back room. Stiles turned to stare at Isaac. “Wait, seriously?”

Isaac shrugged. “I really wouldn’t be late.”

“Duh. I don’t have a death wish.” Stiles let the last few unexpected minutes sink in. “Wow. Okay. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Isaac snorted. “Yeah right. Even if it wasn’t my day off there’s no way I’d be sticking around for your training.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Good to see we’re gonna get along as well as coworkers as we did as teammates.”

Isaac couldn’t help a parting shot and yelled, “Good luck!” just as the old bell signaled Stiles’ exit. It made Stiles even more certain he was going to regret accepting Cora’s offer — not that she really gave him the option of refusing.

At least his dad would be happy he'd be out of the house and not contemplating attempting further renovations.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles meet again.

“Ugh. Done. Finally.”

Derek watched the pen Parrish threw on top of his finished paperwork roll towards the end of the desk and halt precariously halfway over the edge. The shuffling motion Parrish made as he straightened the loose sheets jostled the desk enough to send the pen hurtling towards the floor. Derek caught it halfway there.

“Thanks.” Parrish smiled as Derek handed it back to him then tucked the it back into the tin with all the other stationary they shared. He finished organising his paperwork and started rummaging on his side of the desk for an empty folder before giving up and reaching over to the opposite side of the desk to grab one of Derek’s. “You’ve got plans with the family over the next two days?”

“Just the usual weekly get together.” Derek signed off on his last form without flourish and gathered his own paperwork. “You?”

“I continue to live the sad life of a handsome bachelor without enough time to date.” The following sigh and soft sound of a manila folder closing seemed to echo how pitiful it was.

Derek just rolled his eyes. “Pizza and video games, then.”

“What, no. I promised Bertha and the ladies down at the village I’d help out with a few maintenance issues after my morning run. They always insist on a proper home cooked meal for lunch, so no pizza for me.”

“But video games afterwards.”

“Oh yeah. Soon as I get back I’m not leaving my couch for like ten hours while I mindlessly kill some bloodthirsty aliens. I think I’ve earned it after all the extra shifts this week.” Parrish stood up and stretched, straightening his gun-belt as he lowered his arms. “You’re more than welcome to join me for co-op if your family gets too much again.”

Derek shook his head as he rose. “Thanks but I’m not spending all of my off-shift with them.”

Parrish whacked Derek’s arm with his folder. “Stop rubbing it in you lucky dog.”

“Woof.” Derek snatched Parrish’s folder from him and filed both of them in the Completed inbox by archives for the intern. “C’mon. I think they still have that deal going on at Joe’s.”

“I’ll meet you out front. I’ve gotta find my keys.” Parrish peered at the mess on his desk while patting down his pockets.

Derek shook his head at the familiar sight. “I guess you’ll be ready in a few days then.”

Parrish replied with an unfriendly gesture. “You’re buying.”

“Only if you find them in the next two minutes.”

“You’re on.”

Derek smiled as he made his way towards the front desk of the sheriff’s station, hands in pockets, fingers trailing over the set of keys Parrish wasn’t going to find in time to avoid paying for lunch. As he opened the door to head out into the sunshine, someone ran into him hard enough to bounce back a few steps.

“Oh my god, what are you made of? Carbonite?” The voice was familiar, as were the long limbs and dextrous hands straightening the rumpled clothing. At least the sheriff’s station was a far more typical place to run into Stiles Stilinski than the middle of the woods.

Derek resisted the urge to straighten his own uniform. “Last I checked there wasn’t a bounty on my head.”

As soon as Derek spoke, Stiles’ startled gaze snapped to meet his before it fell and lingered on his badge and gun belt. Stiles took his time returning his gaze to Derek’s face. “Maybe there should be.”

Before Derek could stumble over a reply, his partner ran into his back and bounced off like Stiles had only a moment before.

“Jeez Hale,” he said as he rubbed at his shoulder, “I don’t think you need any more free lunches. What are you doing standing in front of the door?”

“He is clearly so awestruck by my presence that he can’t form words, much less move,” Stiles answered for him, breaking Derek out of his thoughts enough to glare at the young man.

“Stiles?” Parrish peered around Derek’s shoulders. “What, we’re not worth a visit any more? Your dad said you were back last week.”

Stiles shrugged. “I’ve been busy.” A grin crept across his face like a pantomime villain. “If I knew you’d missed me so much I would have made myself a nuisance sooner.”

“I take it back.” Parrish pushed at Derek’s back, shoving him towards Stiles whose eyes widened at Derek’s approach but didn’t move backwards. “You deal with him. I need to find my keys.”

Derek dragged his attention away from Stiles to pull the set of keys from his pocket. “You mean these?”

“Oh,” Parrish pointed aggressively, “you are definitely buying.”

Derek threw them to his partner with a stern look. “I had to wrestle those back after Mrs. Henderson picked your pocket this morning. I think I deserve a free lunch for saving your from a personal follow up call.”

“She didn’t.” Parrish looked scandalised then a little sick. “Oh, she would.” He shuddered. “That’s the third time this month.”

“At least she didn’t fake a burglary again. If you don’t put in a complaint soon I’ll have to tell the Sheriff.”

“Tell me what?”

The two deputies and their eavesdropping companion turned to see Sheriff Stilinski staring at their gathering with crossed arms. He looked pointedly at the entrance to the station and they shuffled obediently to the side and out of the way of foot traffic.

“Well?”

Stiles answered his father before Derek or Parrish could come up with a suitable evasion. “Apparently Mrs. Henderson needs to brush up on the technicalities of sexual harassment.”

The sheriff groaned as he slid a hand over his face. “She didn’t.”

“She did,” Derek and Parrish replied in unison.

“Parrish, you need to report it.”

“Look, we know it’ll never get past a report.” Parrish avoided eye contact as he tried to downplay the situation. “I’m meeting Bertha and the ladies this weekend to help with some home repairs. I promise I will bring it up and I’m sure it won’t happen again once she’s uninvited from the weekly book club. Okay?”

“I will be following up with Bertha to make sure.”

“I’m sure she’d love to have someone new to talk to.”

“No cookies.” Stiles interjected suddenly, pointing at his father. “I know what those ladies are like with their full cream milk and refined sugars and plates and plates of chocolatey addiction.”

“Remind me why I wanted you back here again?” The sheriff crossed his arms over his chest. “In fact, why are you here? At the station, I mean.”

“Celebratory lunch?” Stiles shrugged. “I got a job.”

“No more obsessive cleaning?”

“Hey! But, yeah. No more midnight cleaning binges.”

“Thank god.”

“I am seriously reconsidering that offer to buy lunch.”

“No, you’re right. We need to celebrate.” The sheriff smiled at his deputies. “What do you say boys? Celebratory lunch? Stiles is buying.”

Parrish returned the smile and ignored Stiles’ outraged protest as he accepted. “Sounds good. Hale and I were just about to head to Joe's.”

“Excellent. Hale?”

Derek looked at Stiles, whose glare was almost hilarious in how ineffective it was at intimidation, and smirked. Stiles had got one over on him the other week with that comment — a joke, it had to be, there was no reason for anyone to suspect anything, and Derek was almost obsessive in how careful he was these days — but Derek wanted to repay the feeling.

“Sure. I’m starving.”

“I’ll bet. We should probably tell all the helpless furry woodland creatures to go hide.”

The sheriff and Parrish looked confused by the comment but Derek understood. Stiles hadn’t been joking that time in the woods; he _knew_. Derek didn’t know how — Stiles had only been back in Beacon Hills for maybe a day, he couldn’t have found out before Derek ran across him sleeping in the woods. But _how_ didn’t matter much right then; Stiles was threatening exposure — threatening Derek’s family. The jokes ended now.

“Then you should probably find a warren to burrow into.”

Stiles’ smile faded as he took in the faint growl in Derek's voice and the utterly serious expression. Glancing nervously at his father and Parrish and their still confused expressions didn’t help.

“... Sorry. I didn’t realise hunting was such a sore spot for you.”

Derek actually took a step back and Stiles seemed to realise what he’d just implied. He frantically shook his head and raised his hands placatingly as he opened his mouth to probably make the situation even worse.

Derek never found out what he would have said to try and explain himself because his phone beeped with a text. He moved away as he pulled his phone from his pocket to see a message from Jennifer. He didn’t stop the usual smile that came unbidden at every reminder of her despite the churning in his stomach from his exchange with Stiles.

 

_reason 374 why i am amazing: talked my way into an early day. meet for lunch before you crash into bed?_

 

Derek’s stomach settled as his smile grew. He ignored the rest of the world as he replied.

 

_pretty sure i’m up to 528. let me know where and i’ll see you in 15._

 

“Derek?” The use of his first name by his partner brought him back to the world. Parrish looked concerned.

Derek shook his head and pocketed his phone. “Sorry. I’ll have to reschedule. I’ve got a date.”

It didn’t completely reassure Parrish but he let it go. “Okay. On the very slim chance you need an escape this weekend that co-op offer is always on the table.”

“I probably won’t but thanks.” Derek clapped Parrish on the shoulder and his partner returned the gesture. He turned to his boss, who was still looking confused and concerned by the sudden change in tone Derek and Stiles’ conversation had caused. “I’ll see you in a few days sheriff.”

The sheriff nodded. “Enjoy your time off, Hale.”

Derek straightened his chest and looked over at Stiles who was fidgeting at his father’s side. “Stiles.”

“Derek.” Stiles’ lips twitched as though he wanted to say more but thankfully did not.

His phone buzzed in his pocket again as Derek made his way to his car.

As he drove, Derek recalled the breathing exercises Satomi taught him when he was younger and pushed aside his negative thoughts as best he could.

Upon reaching the restaurant, all Derek could think about was the cheerful wave and warm smile of Jennifer’s greeting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Cora bond. Stiles and Isaac don't. Regardless, Stiles is clearly the best thing to happen to the magic shop in years.

Stiles would have been surprised how quickly Cora trusted him to handle a shift alone at the magic shop (“Call it a fucking magic shop one more time, Stilinski, and I will start getting creative with my punishments for your clumsiness!” “It was one time, Cora, let it go. Those herbs were harmless.” “Not for Mrs. Henderson’s allergies!” “Fucking Mrs. Henderson.” “Watch your language.” “That was not loud enough for you to hear!” “If you two are going to keep scaring away paying customers I’m going to take a nap in the back room.” “Shut up Isaac!”) but, considering the day, it wasn’t surprising that she’d shoved the keys at him that morning only a week after she’d gruffly offered him a job.

“Don’t screw up.”

Stiles rolled his eyes as he pocketed the keys. “Your faith in me is underwhelming. Or is it your faith in your training?”

Cora actually growled. Luckily, Stiles was the only one around to hear her. Unluckily, she started to advance at him.

He held his hands up, well aware that he was alone with her and the full moon was supposed to rise early that evening. “Look, how many customers have we had this week? I’ve spent more time memorising your inefficient cataloguing system than with a customer. It’s not exactly the most arduous retail job in this town.”

His backpedalling seemed to make her stop and think, at least. Cora tilted her head to regard him with her typical hard gaze. “Well, if this job isn’t exciting enough, why don’t you spend what time you have spare between serving customers redesigning our cataloguing system.”

Stiles knew his mouth was gaping unattractively but he couldn’t think about his appearance when evil personified stood before him. “That’s not a one-shift project.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I hired you for more than one shift.” Cora smiled. The faint shimmer in her eyes threatening to expose her bestial nature faded. Stiles would have been pleased that the immediate threat of maiming had vanished if not for the extra work he’d just been assigned.

Cora patted his shoulder before she moved towards the door. “Don’t forget to clean up and set the alarm before you close.”

“Contrary to all impressions, I am not a complete idiot.” Stiles headed to the register, already resigned to his task and mentally planning how to execute it. He threw a wave over his shoulder. “Enjoy your full moon revelry.”

The door crashed into the frame, eliciting a frantically discordant jangle from the wildly swinging bells. Stiles jumped, banging his hip on the register counter as he turned to stare. Cora's claws dug into the frame as she glared at him across the shop floor with yellow eyes.

“You know?”

“Oh my god.” Stiles flailed his arms uselessly in her direction and looked around, despite knowing they were completely alone. “If I didn’t before I definitely do now. Put those away!” He flexed his hands in demonstration. Cora ignored the gesture and raised her lip in a snarl.

“How long?”

“Clearly communication is not a thing in your family which is probably not helped with your propensity for brevity.”

“Stiles!”

“Your brother’s known for weeks that I know and it’s not like this is something you want to advertise, so me keeping the knowledge that I know a secret was something I assumed he’d want so really it’s not my fault that he knew that I know and didn’t tell you. I honestly thought you knew!”

“I hate you.” Cora pressed the heels of her hands against her eye sockets. Her claws were sheathed. “I don’t want to deal with this today.”

“Which is why you hired me so that you didn’t have to think about anything but chasing and rending helpless animals under the light of a full moon.”

Cora rolled her eyes, the vibrant colour fading. “That’s not what we do.”

“I honestly don’t care what you do so long as it never involves an innocent human being, like me, being mauled to death.”

Cora tilted her head, her expression fading from homicidal to puzzled. “You really mean that.” She sounded confused.

“While I admit I don’t know your family that well, so far all I’ve seen is you attack a door. Even before I found about what goes bump in the night I’d seen scarier things. So, yeah, what happens on a full moon stays on a full moon unless you decide to chomp on a passing stranger.”

Cora stared a moment longer then snorted. "I still don't like you and you're on the morning shift tomorrow too. Don't screw up."

Stiles let out a relieved breath and threw her a salute. "You got it boss."

After Cora left the shop in Stiles' completely capable hands, Stiles spent the first two hours of his shift with a label maker rearranging their herb display. He had plans for their oils and crystals next but the ring of bells as the door opened stalled his plans and he straightened himself up and greeted the first customer of the day.

 

 

 

Stiles had not been kidding about the scarcity of customers interested in their particular wares. His first shift alone passed without disturbance. He got a solid start on the catalogue. The next morning shift was a repeat of the same. Cora stumbled in after lunch, dragging a disheveled and clearly sleep-deprived Isaac behind her. They stayed only a few minutes to make sure Stiles hadn’t set the place on fire before their full-moon hangovers got the best of them and they made their way to one of the grease-trap diners by the highway. Stiles sold a man fourteen windchimes. That shift was a highlight.

The rest of the week progressed just as slowly and quietly. Stiles spent his days off at his computer playing games and emailing Scott and trying not to think about his upcoming post-grad course. His dad was busy with work — nothing major but there was a prolific vandal on the loose that was frustrating the department — so Stiles made sure to drop by with lunch or dinner when he was stuck at the station (trying his best to avoid Derek Hale while doing so).

A week after Cora’s order for a more efficient workplace, Stiles was crouched by an uneasy tower of books considering the best way to categorise and reshelve them in the limited space he had left and scratching at his wrists. He was pretty sure he was allergic to something in the store. He wasn’t breaking out into hives, but the itching sensation had grown from mildly irritating to spiders-under-the-skin distracting. Stiles had to keep flexing his fingers and shaking his hands in an attempt to reduce the sensations to bearable.

Luckily, it was near closing time and the end of his shift was in sight. Isaac was slumped over the register counter, flicking through one of the bodice-ripper werewolf romances they’d found while reorganising earlier. Stiles wasn’t complaining; Isaac had done most of the heavy lifting earlier and he kept messing with Stiles’ ordering system whenever he tried to help so Stiles had happily let him slouch by the register charming their Saturday customers into buying aura cleansing potpourri sachets.

The sound of the bell over the door ringing startled them both. It was incredibly uncommon for any customers to drop by so late on a weekend. Stiles almost tipped over the books as he looked to see who had entered.

It was the woman from the other week, Caitlin, the hospital intern. She was wearing a different pair of rumpled scrubs and her hair was loose this time. Her smile when she spotted Stiles, however, was just as wry and enticing as he remembered.

“I see you actually work here now.”

Stiles looked down at the lanyard with his name and photo still stamped with ‘trainee’ and puffed out his chest.

“Guess I make good first impressions.” Stiles glared at Isaac when he snorted but the other man just flipped to the next page in his book, seemingly engrossed. Stiles decided to be the better person and ignored his snide commentary and turned his full attention to Caitlin with a smile. “So, what can I help you with this time?”

“Honestly, I forgot my mother’s birthday.” Caitlin grimaced, her nose scrunching. “I remember seeing wrought iron ornaments last time.”

“Oh, yes, good choice.” Stiles spun around, thinking about where he had reorganised the larger items. “Over here.” Stiles pointed and led Caitlin to the back corner. It was still a little disorganised but Stiles had managed to get most of the ornament display looking attractive. “So, you were thinking sculptures or something more practical like the candlesticks?”

“Not sure.” Caitlin stared at the multitude of black cat miniatures. “I just know she likes the style. Oh.” Something caught her eye and she moved around the display towards the back wall. “That is kind of perfect.”

Stiles looks at the mirror hanging on the wall. “Yeah, it’s definitely one of the better made pieces. Did you want a closer look?” At her nod, he moved some of the large standing pieces in front of the wall to the side so he could maneuver the mirror off the wall. It wasn’t large but the ornamental frame made it heavy and Stiles struggled but ultimately succeeded in leaning it against the wooden table used to display the small table sculptures.

“I like the frame.” Caitlin’s fingers trailed over the black iron. “It’s not too ornate but also not thick and heavy.”

“It’s heavier than it looks.”

Caitlin laughed. “Aesthetically speaking, then.” She inspected the backing and hanging chain and nodded. “I really like it. I think she will too.”

“Well that’s fantastic. I do like selling things.”

Caitlin laughed. “You are in the right line of work then.”

“Okay, so I’ll just——” Isaac slid in between them and interrupted Stiles as he moved to pick up the mirror again. He hefted it easily onto his shoulder and moved towards the counter. “Or, rather Isaac will just box that up for you.”

“He’s a lot stronger than he looks.” Caitlin’s eyebrows hid in her fringe as she watched Isaac carefully wrangle the mirror into its box.

“It’s kind of a theme here — looking beyond appearances.”

“I like it.” Caitlin turned back to Stiles with a shy smile.

Stiles returned it without thinking, his heart beating faster as he recognised the double meaning. He scrubbed a hand at the back of his neck. “Ah, why don’t I ring that up for you?” He gestured her towards the counter where Isaac was just finishing with the gift-wrapping.

Caitlin paid for her purchase and smiled politely at Isaac when he handed the box to her and declined his offer of help to take it to her car. Stiles rushed from behind the counter to open the door for her and she thanked him with a bright smile, happier and more sincere than when she had thanked Isaac for his offer.

“I hope your mother likes her gift,” Stiles told her after she and the large box had made it over the threshold.

“She’ll love it. Thanks Stiles. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Stiles waved as she made her way to her car parked down the street. Then he closed and locked the door and watched through the glass as she got the box inside and drove away safely.

Stiles turned away and yelped as he almost ran into Isaac’s chest.

“Oh my god would you all stop doing that!”

“No.” Isaac smirked and reached behind Stiles to turn the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.

Stiles rolled his eyes and attempted to push past Isaac, glaring when he had to slide around him and threaten to topple one of the candle displays instead of getting the werewolf to move an inch. As soon as Stiles was past, Isaac made his way back to the register and started counting the till.

As Stiles made his way back to the books and the job he’d left unfinished before Caitlin arrived, his hand brushed against the basket of potpourri sachets that had been selling so well. He tugged it to his chest with a sharp hiss when he felt a sting. His finger was bleeding.

“What, slacking of to flirt isn’t enough? You need to skip work because of a papercut?” Isaac didn’t seem the least bit concerned that their displays could potentially harm their customers.

“Shut up.” Stiles sucked on his finger with a wince. When he pulled it out to inspect it he saw that the whole finger, not just the area around the tiny cut, was inflamed. “Damn. I am definitely allergic to something here.”

“Whatever. Just get the books finished and we can lock up and go home. Boyd’s cooking tonight and I do not want to miss out on his chilli.”

Stiles rolled his eyes but went back to his books while Isaac finished closing. He made sure not to drip any blood on the pages.

 

 

 

The next week, Stiles had finally completed his task and was running late finishing his Monday morning shift.

“Okay,” Stiles called from the break room, trying not to choke himself with his lanyard as he changed shirts, “the printer should be finished with the order by this afternoon, so one of you will need to pick it up.”

“Hey,” Cora interrupted from the doorway, rolling her eyes as Stiles frantically tried to cover himself with his hands. “I’m the manager here.”

“Yes, well, I organised it all so just humour me, okay?” He turned his back to her and pulled on a clean shirt.

“This better not have been a waste of money Stilinski.”

“Would you just trust me? You’ve had nothing but positive feedback about the changes I’ve made.”

“Mrs. Hernderson doesn’t like where you put the rose oil.”

“Mrs. Hernderson doesn’t like anything.” Stiles finished straightening his clothes and tucked his lanyard in his pocket. “Okay, so how do I look?”

Cora gave him a cursory glance. “Like you always do.”

“Good. That’s what I was going for.” Stiles fiddled with his collar for another moment before pulling out his phone.

Cora rolled her eyes and pulled him out of the break room and through the storeroom to the main floor. “Will you just go to lunch already?”

“But——”

“We survived without you around for years. We will not destroy your system in one afternoon. Go!”

Stiles stumbled and almost fell onto the road with the force of Cora’s shove out the door. He didn’t even get to say goodbye before she slammed it in his face. He took one last look at the purple windows before making his way downtown.

The cafe in the strip mall by the firehouse had wooden tables with white umbrellas out the front. It was at one of those Stiles took a seat and glanced at his watch. He was early but not excessively so. In fact, it was barely two minutes before a voice calling from down the road caught his attention.

“Stiles!”

Stiles jumped from his seat, almost hitting the table behind him with his chair in his enthusiasm and jogged to meet Allison with a huge hug. She laughed into his neck as he tried to pick her up and squeezed him back. He tried not to choke on her dark curls as he nuzzled in. She’d grown her hair back out again.

“It’s been way too long,” she said once they separated and made their way back to the table. “How have you been?”

“Good. Glad to have graduated, though it’s only a few weeks until I start postgrad, so we’ll see how long that lasts.” Stiles pulled a chair out for Allison with a flourish and she grinned at him as she took a seat.

“My father was telling me. He was quite impressed with your application.”

“Oh god. Do I want to know what he really said?” Stiles covered his face with his hands and peeked through his fingers.

Allison was still smiling, dimpled cheeks flushed and eyes shining. “Okay, so he might have called me to confirm that the application I received really did belong to that same friend of mine that almost set the library on fire while attempting to demonstrate combustion theory while we were studying for the PSATs.”

Stiles groaned and slid his hands down his face before thumping his forehead on the table. “What’s really awful is that’s still not the worst impression I’ve made on someone.”

Allison laughed and Stiles straightened himself up to ask about her life now — which was clearly more exciting, what with being a firefighter and all.

Allison was caught up in a story about graveyard shift shenanigans when Stiles felt someone slide manicured fingers over his cheeks from behind. Soft hands covered his vision and a voice he could spend lifetimes remembering asked, “Guess who?”

“Coach?”

Lydia took her hands away so she could push at his shoulder. “Ass.” She then leaned down and draped her arms over his chest as she leaned into his neck for a hug. He covered her arms with his own and closed his eyes as he tilted his head to return the gesture. Her hair was still so soft and her spicy scent was as sensual and familiar as he remembered. He knew she could feel his fingers shaking as he held onto her but she just tapped her nails against his chest before she pulled away. She left a sticky kiss on his cheek and left a similar trail of lipgloss against Allison’s cheek as they greeted each other with a full body hug.

Stiles suddenly missed Scott so fiercely that he had to press his hand against his chest to try and ease the ache. It had been years since they all saw each other —  all four of them, not just one or two together. Sure, he and Lydia called each other every month and emailed at least once a week and he knew Scott and Allison kept in regular contact but it was different being in the same place, breathing in each others air, and being able to see their face without the veil of a computer screen. The four of  them had spent years on their relationships in high school and Stiles hadn’t realised how much he missed that until he and Scott were alone in an unfamiliar city and he couldn’t call Allison to try the local Thai place with him after late drinks or curl up with Lydia on the couch with a guilty pleasure movie when they both lucked out on date night.

Watching Lydia and Allison smile at each other and turn to share their stories and joy with him as they barely touched their overpriced coffee was still wonderful. Stiles quickly joined back in with their planning for the summer break and made a few outlandish suggestions just to see them protest and laugh.

Halfway through lunch, Stiles received a text that eased the final lingering sadness.

 

_Say hi to Allison and Lydia for me._

 

Stiles relayed Scott’s message and they both smiled happily before Lydia commented about Kira’s ring. Allison pushed at his leg with her heavy boot as Stiles tried to claim responsibility for kicking Scott’s ass into gear. The finished their lunch and ordered more overpriced drinks. The owner of the cafe eventually had to kick them out. Lydia still tipped generously.

When he got home, Stiles didn’t wash away the layered kisses on his cheek.

 

 

 

Stiles woke in the middle of the night to a cool breeze. Though it was summer, the nights sometimes still warranted some bedding layers and Stiles was often prone to midnight chills. He leaned over to pull up the thin sheet that had fallen off sometime in the night and nearly fell onto his face as he grasped at nothing and overreached while searching for the missing bedclothes.

It wasn’t just the sheet that was missing however.

Stiles startled into full wakefulness and clutched at the rough wood he was curled atop. His bed was missing, as was his room and his house and perhaps even civilisation entirely. He was lying on a stump in the middle of the woods and he had no idea how he got here.

As he twisted around to get his bearings, a splinter broke the skin of his finger and he winced. He definitely wasn’t dreaming. It was the same finger he’d hurt earlier and the cut had broke open and oozed blood. He watched a drop fall to the top of the stump, quickly absorbed into the porous wood, and realised he recognised the whorls beneath his fingers in the starlight.

He was in that same clearing — sitting on the same stump — that Derek had warned him away from weeks ago. He didn’t have his phone or keys or even shoes — though the last fact clearly hadn’t deterred Sleepwalking Stiles judging by the stinging and ache emanating from the soles of his feet. Stiles should have been panicking — he was miles from home, his dad was working and wouldn’t notice him missing, there were mountain lions attacking people — but everything still felt so unreal that all he could muster was a vague sense of annoyance.

“Work is going to suck tomorrow.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek connects with his family, Jennifer and Stiles.

Weekly family dinner on Wednesday was as crowded and boisterous as usual. Derek was glad to have an excuse to leave early — he was already dressed to leave directly from dinner to work — but he would still be there for most of the evening. His mother was in charge of that week’s meal so she had of course consulted the Hale family recipe book. She’d decided on her father’s beef stew — not quite as heavy as her mother’s winter specials, but still hearty and filling for a table full of werewolves.

Derek set the table in the dining room as his mother finished up in the kitchen. He could see most of the goings on in the living room where everyone waited. Boyd was lying on the couch, Erica draped over him engaged in a furious Mariokart battle with Isaac on the floor in front of them. Peter was in the armchair by the window tapping at his tablet, seemingly ignoring the noise but occasionally smiling at a particularly vicious or inventive insult Erica would hurl when losing. Cora wasn’t home but she’d called ahead to let them know she would be late. Whether there would be any food left for her would be something she’d have to deal with later. Talia wouldn’t set aside any food; no one missed family dinner.

Cora did manage to rush through the front door just as Talia finished serving the last plate. She still had her work lanyard around her neck with that terrible passport photo she had to take with her eyes closed. Isaac tugged at it as he rushed past to get to the table and Cora scowled as she pulled it off and shoved it in her pocket.

“Long day?” Talia asked as she served up a bowl for Cora who sat in her usual seat beside Derek. Peter was the only one still dawdling to the table. Boyd and Isaac were dividing up the fresh rolls.

Cora slumped in her seat, her feet knocking against Derek’s as she slid down. “Frustrating.”

Isaac hummed. “What did he do now?”

“He took it upon himself while filling out orders for our reorganisation last week to request some extra merchandise.”

“Oh, he didn’t.”

“He already had the display set up this morning before I started my shift. It was garish but I couldn’t even take it down because there were customers everywhere today.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously. And he made sales! I wanted to throttle him. Instead, we spent an hour after close organising the kits and costumes on the floor and the back room. He would not stop grinning, even when he spilled one of the stupid trick sets everywhere. I couldn’t even enjoy yelling at him because I know he hasn’t been sleeping well for the past few days and, much as I hate to admit it, he’s probably right. They’re gonna sell really well.” Cora sighed as she dug her spoon into the thick stew. “Throttling him would just be so therapeutic, though.”

“You’re the one that hired him.” Isaac shrugged as Cora glared at him and continued eating.

Cora almost took a bite of her meal but let out a short growl and dropped her spoon back into her stew instead. “Do you know what else though?”

Erica couldn’t quite hide her groan as she buried her head in Boyd’s shoulder. Boyd continued eating without glancing up from his food. Peter was still tapping away at his tablet between bites, ignoring Talia’s pointed glare at the device sitting next to his plate. Isaac cast a pleading look at Derek but he was refusing to even acknowledge the conversational topic of the week as he had every time Cora or Isaac so much as mentioned Stiles.

“He’s got an idea for the festival this weekend.” Cora didn’t seem to notice the lack of response from her family; she continued to rant, her food near-untouched and her spoon cutting through the air as she gestured.

Isaac sighed. “Dare I ask?”

“He is, in his words, versed in the art of stage magic.”

“I should be surprised … and yet.”

“I know. And he has a costume. Ugh. The kids will love him. So will the parents. It’s brilliant advertising. We’re gonna make a killing. I hate him. I hate him so much.”

Talia cut in before Cora could start on another thing she hated about Stiles. “Eat your dinner before it gets cold or someone might do it for you.” She smiled as Cora glanced at the disinterested occupants of the table properly and rolled her eyes, her cheeks a little pink. “I’m glad to hear the shop is doing well. You and Isaac have done a wonderful job to bring it back to what it once was, if not improve on it. I’m sure Deidre will be pleased.”

“It’s not that big a deal.” Cora shrugged, finally digging into her food.

Isaac smiled. “Thanks, Talia.”

Talia returned the smile and looked further down the table. “Speaking of jobs, how is yours going now Erica? You must be busy with your own preparations for this weekend.”

Erica hastily swallowed as she nodded. “Yeah, pretty busy. You guys keep us on our toes but all the prep work is done for the stage. I’m meeting up with Danny and his crew to do a look over on Friday before soundcheck and rehearsal. Mrs. Martin’s been really great with organising the school stuff. So long as everyone shows up on time the performances should go on without a hitch.”

“Wonderful. You’re all going to make an effort to come on Saturday, right? The ladies and I and so many people in the town have put a lot of effort into this festival.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Boyd smiled at Talia then down at Erica as she nudged his shoulder.

“My boss has graciously allowed me the weekend free.” Isaac smirked at Cora as she tried to kick him under the table and missed. “I’m pretty sure I can drag her along too.”

“I suppose I can spare an hour or two.” Peter didn’t even look up from his tablet.

Talia turned to Derek and he gestured to his uniform. “I’ll be on duty, but I’ll be there.”

Talia frowned. “You won’t be on duty for the whole day, will you?”

“I doubt it. The sheriff usually tends to stagger shifts for these sort of things.”

“And Jennifer?”

“You’d know better than I would. Isn’t she helping Mrs. Martin?”

“I just wanted to make sure. She knows she’s welcome around here, right?”

“Mom, of course. She’s been here before, you’ve made her very welcome.”

Talia pushed her plate forward and folded her hands in front of her on the table. Derek winced, knowing he wouldn’t enjoy the turn in conversation. “She hasn’t been to any of our family dinners.”

“I know. I’ve asked.” Talia narrowed her eyes. “I promise, I’ve asked. She keeps saying that she doesn’t want to intrude. She thinks I deserve some time to be myself around my family.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Mom, that’s really not——”

“I’ll talk to her.” It was firm, but not a command. Derek nodded anyway.

“Okay. If you think it’s important.”

“Your happiness is important, Derek. She is crucial to that. Anything that makes you happy is my priority.” Talia smiled and Derek let go of the remaining tension from the conversation.

“Okay. Thank you.” He pushed his empty plate forward. “May I be excused? My next shift starts soon.”

“Of course. Be careful out there.”

Derek rose from the table. “I always am.” He kissed his mother’s cheek then looked down at the rest of the table. “The rest of you: stay out of trouble.”

“No guarantees,” Erica said as she reached for seconds.

“See you Derek.” Boyd nodded.

“Yeah, see you later.” Isaac smiled.

“Don’t forget Friday’s delivery,” Cora reminded him.

Peter just gave a halfhearted wave.

Talia got up and moved to the kitchen. “I’ve got some extra food for you and Jordan when you get a break tonight.”

“You know, his jokes about becoming my stepfather are starting to sound more serious.”

“Nonsense, if your partner could be so easily snared one of the ladies from the book club would have already snapped him up.”

Derek laughed as she handed him the full tupperware containers. “Thanks. I’ll drop these back on Friday before my shift.”

“Of course. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye mom.” He placed another kiss on her other cheek this time and made his way out of the house.

Derek took a deep breath, savouring the feeling of his family gathered happily together in his childhood home, before he climbed into his car and drove away.

 

 

 

The kitchen was still shadowed with morning gloom when Derek entered through the back after his night shift on Thursday morning. He toed off his boots by the door and left the freshly baked bread he picked up on the way home on the counter by the stove as he moved through the quiet space. Jennifer had left her dishes from last night’s dinner in the sink (it was barely identifiable, like most of the meals she tended to eat when Derek wasn’t around; Derek was just glad he could smell some vegetable matter on the utensils as she had a tendency to forego healthy foods when she was up late into the night).

Derek locked his gun away in the safe in the hall closet and removed his holster, belt and badge and placed them on the shelf next to it. He pulled off his uniform as he passed the bathroom and left the clothing in the half-full hamper before making his way to the bedroom clad only in his briefs.

Jennifer was sprawled in the middle of the bed, her hair a mass of tendrils threatening to choke the pillows. She kept twitching, inching away from the encroaching sunlight. She forgot to pull the curtains before going to bed again.

Derek smiled, a familiar gesture now since Jennifer had literally fallen into his life, tripping over a chair leg at one of the few town meetings they’d both attended. Even in sleep her enthusiastic personality couldn’t be dulled as she mumbled and swatted her fingers at her dreams.

Derek tried not to disturb her as he lifted the blankets to slide into bed, but he couldn’t help nudging her her as he settled against one of the pillows since she had decided to claim all of the sleeping space since he had not been there that night.

She turned onto her side and nuzzled into his shoulder, not yet conscious but reacting to another body close by. Derek kissed her forehead and trailed his fingers down her side as he pulled her closer.

“Cold nose,” she mumbled, starting to wake.

“It’s summer,” Derek protested.

“’s cold.” She dug in closer, half atop his chest and arms now wrapped around Derek’s waist. She kissed him just above his nipple. “Your fault.”

“Want me to warm you back up?” Derek’s fingers were still trailing down her side, circling on her hip, dipping occasionally down the crease of her thigh, never quite breaching the line of her underwear.

She stretched up, her hips pressing against his in a lingering roll as she finally opened her eyes to smile lazily at him. “That’s the point of a boyfriend,” she said just before she kissed him.

Derek pressed up against her, losing himself in the kiss and the slide of their bodies against each other. He traced familiar paths over her skin, tugging her shirt off when it interrupted the flow of his exploration. She hummed happily against his neck, dotting kisses down to his collarbone as his fingertips caught on creases of her skin, warm and energised.

He left aside thoughts of his mother and her insistence on interfering with his life, of frustrating cases without leads, of people he couldn’t help, who didn’t want help, of strange impulses to check the woods for signs of something. Instead, he focused on the taste of Jennifer’s kisses and her giggle as she flinched from his stubble when he kissed her soft belly.

Her fingers tugged at his hair and she swallowed his sighs before he could vocalise them. He pulled her hips closer, teasing at the edges of lace on her panties until she huffed impatiently and slid her hands down the back of his briefs to return the tortuous gesture.

Derek lost himself completely in her — in them, their bodies, the sound, the feel, the taste. All thoughts vanished, all impulses dulled aside from the desire to coax out another soft gasp and shuddering moan. Every kiss reignited his passion and each touch sent him further towards bliss until he finally tumbled over the edge of pleasure.

Jennifer wrapped herself completely around him and didn’t let go until he faded into dreamless sleep.

 

 

 

Derek didn’t want to get up on Friday morning. Unluckily for him, Jennifer was buzzing around trying to finish her morning routine. She fell onto the bed as she tripped over her shoes and Derek gave up hope of a lie-in.

“Jeez, I’m late. Have you seen my earrings, you know the swirly eye ones with the middle thing?”

“Dresser.” Derek pointed without opening his eyes.

“Yes! Thank you. Ugh, I am going to be so glad when this stupid festival is over.”

Derek squinted at Jennifer through the mirror over the dresser as she put the finishing touches on her outfit. “I thought you were looking forward to it.”

“I am. I love this festival. I’m so glad they started putting it on again. What I hate is the rigmarole of organising the damn thing. Have you ever tried to get teenagers to do something before noon during the first week of vacation? No matter how much you know they’ve been looking forward to this? Why did I choose to teach?”

Jennifer capped her lipstick and turned to kiss at the air beside Derek’s cheek. He hated the waxy feel of her lipstick. Her perfume was light and subtle, like early morning mist in spring. Derek pressed a kiss against her cheek before she pulled away.

“Don’t forget Cora’s delivery,” she called as she left.

Derek stretched out on the sheets, bathing in the morning light for a few minutes before starting on his own routine.

 

 

 

It wasn’t yet nine, so the front entrance to _Brew-ha-ha!_ was still locked. What Derek hadn’t expected was that the roller door to the storage room around the back would also be locked. He set down the box he was carrying and rapped on the metal, hard enough to make a very noticeable noise but not enough to dent the flimsy material. Cora had made him pay for repairs to the door twice already.

It only took a minute of continuous knocking to finally get someone’s attention. The back door beside the storage door swung open, almost hitting Derek.

Stiles hung onto the doorframe as he looked outside. “Can I he...uh Derek?” The annoyed glare turned to confused panic as he took in exactly who was knocking.

Derek was certain he was also sporting a deer-in-headlights sort of expression, though probably not as obvious as Stiles’. Cora was supposed to be on shift this morning. He gestured at the box by his feet as he struggled for something to say.

“Delivery,” he finally managed, more of a grunt than actual words.

“What?” Stiles followed the line of his arm to the box. “Oh. Oh! Right. That’s too wide to fit through here. I’ll open the roller.” He disappeared back inside and a few seconds later the metal started groaning as it shifted, gears turning unhappily as the door rose.

Derek picked up the box and ducked under the door when it was halfway raised. Stiles was shifting a few empty boxes into a sloppy pyramid in front of one of the stock shelves.

“So, what exactly are you dropping off?” Aparently Stiles’ curiosity was so unrelenting that it overpowered any lingering awkwardness between them.

Derek almost didn’t want to answer him but, ultimately, he was an adult; he was supposed to be above petty grudges, or, at least, he should be able to hide it behind a veneer of civility. Stiles was Cora’s employee; they were bound to run into each other often enough that it would be easier to try and get past their unfortunate last encounter. It also didn’t hurt that Cora had been rather effusive with her relieved (and grudging) praise that Stiles was not only in the know but quite firmly pro-werewolf and more than willing to work two full days in a row on the full moon and the day after. Stiles just seemed to suffer from a really bad case of foot-in-mouth syndrome; Derek could push past his initial reaction to Stiles’ bad jokes and act civilly.

Stiles was looking at him from under lowered lashes, his shoulders hunched. He clearly recalled their last encounter with as much fondness as Derek. It made it easier for Derek to open up the cardboard flaps of the box to answer Stiles’ question.

Stiles peered into the box and reached in to grab one of the potpourri sachets. He held it up with a quizzical expression.

Derek shrugged. “I _could_ enjoy craft.”

Stiles snickered and tossed the sachet back into the box with the others. “Way to break the macho stereotype.”

The smile was small and unbidden, but Derek allowed himself to show it. “I’m just the courier. Jennifer used to make these with her mother. Cora saw a few at our house and thought she might be interested in making some extra money.”

“Cora is very good at spotting potential. Those things sell like crazy.” Stiles stuck his head closer to the box and scrunched up his nose after a long sniff. “I don’t really get the appeal. Which is weird; the incense we sell is a lot stronger and I don’t really have a problem with that, or the candles.”

Derek shrugged again and secured the box before putting it down next to the one he delivered last month. There were a few sachets at the bottom of that box. He transferred them to the full box then switched the boxes and stacked the empty box atop Stiles’ impromptu pyramid. “I’m used to it at home. The shop seems overwhelming to me. Maybe it’s just exposure.”

“Probably. We are incredibly adaptable creatures.”

The offhandedly inclusive comment startled Derek into staring at Stiles, who had turned away while Derek was finishing his delivery and was straightening up a few more boxes spilling out onto the floor. It was strangely comforting and so different to their last encounter — this idea that Stiles considered them the same, werewolves and humans, rather than something to be hunted and feared.

Stiles yawned, a full body motion that almost had him toppling onto his ass as he crouched on the balls of his feet in front of the stubbourn boxes. Derek noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Derek’s question startled them both. Stiles did actually fall onto his ass as he turned to stare at Derek. Derek looked away from the astonished gaze. “Cora mentioned you hadn’t been sleeping well.”

Stiles got to his feet and brushed off his pants. “I’m fine.” He was avoiding Derek’s gaze now.

“That was a lie.”

Stiles shot Derek a dirty look. “Freaking werewolves. Okay, I’m not fine, but I will be.”

Derek opened his mouth to call him out on the second lie but decided not to. He didn’t know why he asked in the first place and he didn’t know where he was going with his line on inquiry. Did he want to help? Would Stiles even want it? Why would he even offer it?

Apparently the uncomfortable silence was growing too awkward even for Stiles and he shuffled his feet and asked, defensively, his shoulders hunched again and leaning away from Derek, “Don’t you have a shift to get to?”

Derek clutched at the offered lifeline. “Yes, I do. I just wanted to deliver this before the shop opened.”

“Well, thanks. Job well done. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around?”

“I’ll be around.” Derek winced. He hated small talk.

Stiles laughed, easing out of his defensive posture a little. He seemed to enjoy Derek’s awkwardness so long as he wasn’t personally involved. “Sounds good dude.”

Derek nodded and made his escape, ducking under the roller door again. It started closing as soon as he was through. He paused to let out a breath, still reeling from the encounter with Stiles and unable to completely understand his reactions to it, then he started walking back to his car.

A loud bang, followed by the sound of boxes falling, emerged from inside the store, distorted by the metal door. Stiles’ frustrated cry cut off as though he was covering his face with his hands.

“Why do you hate me universe?”

Derek laughed as he listened to the frustrated mumbling, the diatribe following him on his way back to the car.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek patrols at the summer festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a warning in this chapter for harm done to a child. No death. Please see the end notes for spoiling details if this may be triggering.

The sporting fields of Beacon Hills High School were full of excited people and colourful booths. A stage had been erected at the end furthest from the school buildings and food trucks parked as close to that as the fire safety laws and high-strung festival officials in fluorescent orange vests allowed. A band of teenagers small enough to almost be completely hidden behind their instruments opened the festivities to an avid crowd of friends and family and few others. Some politely clapped at the end of each song but others wandered back and forth between the stage and trucks and craft stalls. Five people wandered in bright costumes making balloon animals and three stalls offering face painting already had long queues.

Derek had a bottle of water tucked into his spare holster and leaned back against the front of the stage, earplugs secure but barely effective against the feedback buzz too high for most humans to hear. Two security officers reclined just as lazily as him against the stage near the middle, not really expecting any problems from the crowd but there just in case a kid wandered away from their parents and tried to pull at the electrical cables.

Parrish was patrolling the craft and game stalls, another officer was on duty by the rides and the first lucky officer on rotation by the food stalls had mockingly waved to Derek with a giant pretzel shoved in his mouth on his wander through. The sheriff had set up a mobile office by the first aid tent and was probably dealing with complaining citizens who were more likely to be directed to the front desk officer on duty to record their grievances on any other day. Elections were coming up in the next year though, so it was probably a good strategy to have a little publicity and show the sheriff wasn’t completely unwilling to deal with the regular citizenry.

Derek wouldn’t dare laugh at his boss but Stiles, who had arrived with the sheriff, had taken one look at the stall with its sign inviting the people of Beacon Hills to get to know the local department almost choked on his laughter before managing to calm down, wipe the tears from his eyes, and wish all the gathered officers luck. Then he noticed the ‘Get A Photo With Your Favourite Officer!’ sign and the blank backdrop and started all over again, leaning against the stall’s folding table for support.

Sheriff Stilinski had swiped at the back of Stiles’ head and said, “Don’t you have to get changed?”

Stiles wiped at his eyes again and the laughter faded to pained wheezing as he straightened up. “Yeah. Don’t forget to save a slot in your photo op for me.”

Derek had been given his morning assignment and left before Stiles returned but Matt, the photographer on loan from the _Hills Herald_ , had arrived in the interim and there were a few people lingering — organising crew and family of kids who needed to arrive early — and he took his leave eagerly. One of the mothers was eyeing him in an uncomfortably familiar way and Derek just hoped that he might be able to escape his time in the photo booth without too much groping.

Erica had been at the stage when he got there but she only had time to wave at him before she was off yelling at one of the stagehands for almost taking out the generator for the sound desk. The sound guy just shook his head with a smile and continued with his check. The rest of the black garbed stage crew seemed used to it, working around Erica’s flailing clipboard and pointed instructions.

Derek watched Erica wrangle order from chaos during the hour before the festival officially started. Her hands were always moving, a nervous tic he rarely saw these days. She caught his gaze once the final check had finished without incident, bottom lip between her teeth. Derek smiled at her and gave her a quick thumbs up. She rolled her eyes and waved him away with a pleased blush. This was her first big job as an event manager; with the way things were going, Derek expected to see her doing more than church fundraisers and the occasional local band gig soon enough

It was still too early in the day to determine, but it should be a smooth shift. Crying kids might be the worst Derek could expect. He straightened up just in case. Beacon Hills was nothing like New York but Derek knew better than to assume the best, especially when crowds were involved. There was always going to be something — even if it was just a drunk and disorderly at a sober family event — and Derek had to be alert.

After a while, he got used to the screaming kids and loud noises and Derek started to slowly relax. He was still alert, but the sound of balloons popping in one the game stalls no longer had him twitching towards his gun. Not all of the kids were terrible and the ones who made what could only be described as screeching cat noises were young enough for the audience not to care.

Erica had calmed down too as the morning went on, taking a seat by the handsome sound guy who was checking Derek out every so often. Erica caught a few of the glances and grinned. Derek continued ignoring her and was glad when Boyd finally showed up to drag her onto a break. The sound guy seemed pleased with that too, using the lack of supervision to text and chat between sets. He was pretty on the ball, though, keeping up with a few minor reverb issues and a crackling lead.

The closest Derek got to any real work was when a guy started yelling and hovering intimidatingly over one of the officials who wouldn’t let him pass into a restricted area. Derek just walked slowly over, hand on his holstered gun, and the guy backed off with a glare. The teenage official thanked him and Derek made sure he was okay before going back to his post.

He caught sight of Stiles twice while on shift. The first time he was surrounded by a bunch of kids staring up at him starry-eyed. His smile was wide and his motions even more exaggerated. He produced a coin from behind the ear of one boy then a rain of coins when someone tried to comment. He dazzled them with bright flowers and fluttering handkerchiefs and he had the kids bouncing as he tied to get them to chant a silly rhyming magic spell with him. At one point he pretended to fall asleep so the kids had to say a magic phrase to wake him up. It was mostly pantomime and distraction techniques but his tiny audience was enthralled.

Derek hated to admit it, but he was rather caught up in the show himself. Engrossed enough that Erica had to clear her throat to alert him to the fact that she and her boyfriend were standing next to him. Boyd refrained from making any comment, verbal or otherwise, but Erica started smiling and Derek knew he had to cut her off before she could speak.

“Everything seems to be going well so far.” It was such a banal and obviously distracting comment but Erica pouted at being cut off so Derek counted it as a win.

“I’m pretty proud of what you’ve done.” Thank god for Boyd, who was completely sincere and smitten as he pulled Erica back against his chest. She couldn’t stay mad at that and snuggled back with a blissful smile.

“Well, I am awesome.” Boyd kissed her cheek and Erica smiled up at him.

Derek coughed to remind them they weren’t alone and regretted drawing Erica’s attention back to him. “You two know I’m on duty right.”

“Yes, it’s such a hard job you seem to have, standing here watching out for trouble and sexy magicians.” Derek was right to be wary as Erica turned her grin on him again. “I’m not the only one who seems to be doing well today.” She looked pointedly back to where Stiles was bowing to the applauding kids and parents, his cape swirling dramatically.

He was completely ridiculous and Derek couldn’t quite hide his smile. Erica poked his cheek and Derek scowled at her but she just tugged at Boyd’s hand and pulled him back towards the sound desk. “C’mon Boyd, we can find something better to do than watch Derek perve.”

“I’m not …” he gave up with a sigh and looked at Boyd. “Try to keep her out of trouble.”

“I’ll try. Enjoy the sights.” Boyd’s smile was a mirror of Erica’s and Derek wondered why he ever thought he might have an ally against Erica’s commentary in her boyfriend. He shook his head as he watched them leave and returned his attention to his job.

Stiles had wandered off in the mean time and Derek absolutely did not look for him in the crowd.

The second time Derek saw Stiles, Derek was sneaking away from the station’s stall for a desperate break from the groping mothers. Watching the tripwire ropes and tent pegs littering the ground, Stiles almost didn’t see him until he literally ran into him in the maze of canvas walls behind the stalls.

“Wow, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Stiles said as he pushed off Derek’s chest and almost fell again onto the back of a tent when he tripped over the rope tying it down. Derek grabbed his arm before he hit the canvas and set him upright. Stiles scratched at the back of his head as he said, “Thanks.”

“No problem. In a hurry to get back to your adoring crowd?” It was meant to be teasing but Stiles looked at him with a pleased smile.

“You saw my act?” Derek nodded. “I’m so glad it worked. Cora would never let me forget it if I failed. I’m actually not that great with kids.”

Derek huffed, a disbelieving sound. “Really?”

Stiles shrugged, his face red as he tried to explain. “That stuff’s easy enough if you can get their attention, it’s all waving hands and funny voices. That I’m good with. It’s when you have to actually talk to them that I tend to fall apart. My words are too long and my humour goes right over their heads. But magic, you know, it’s kind of universally cool.”

“Well, I don’t think Cora will be complaining.”

“I don’t know dude, I’m pretty sure she’ll find something.” Stiles shared a grin with him before he started shuffling away. “Anyway, I need to get some water. I didn’t realise how tiring today was going to be.”

Stiles did look a little pale under the sheen of sweat. He’d already shed his tailed coat for his vest and rolled up shirtsleeves; his cape and top hat he donned as needed for flair.

Derek didn’t hesitate in offering his unopened water. “Here.”

“You sure?” Stiles was already reaching for the bottle.

“I can get more at the tent.”

“Weren’t you just running away from there?”

Derek shrugged and tried not to watch Stiles gulping down the water. “I just needed a quick break. It’s a little … overwhelming right now.”

Stiles snorted. “I can imagine. Honestly though, if I had the opportunity I’d probably grab it with both hands too.” He took another drink then almost spat it out as Derek stared at him and he finally registered what he’d just said. “Oh my god, that was … I’m sorry. I’m just gonna crawl out of sight and pretend I don’t have a mouth.”

Derek wasn’t quite ready to let him go, especially not leaving things so awkwardly between them again. “If you were really sorry, you’d offer to take my shift.”

Stiles laughed, the tension in his hunched shoulders easing. “Yeah right, I don’t think anyone could be that generous.”

Derek shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

“Yeah.” Stiles took one last drink of water. “Anyway. I do need to get going. Sorry.”

“Guess I can’t avoid it forever.”

“Suffering’s supposed to build character, you know.” Stiles started making his way towards a gap in the tents.

“Tell me that in a few days when I might be able to sit down again.”

Stiles laughed as he walked away. “Thanks again Derek.” He waved the empty water bottle then disappeared into the crowd.

Derek stared after him a moment longer then sighed and made his way back to the department stall to face the music.

 

 

 

The sun was starting to set when Derek finally saw Jennifer for the first time that day while he was off-shift. She was talking with Natalie Martin who was shooing her away from the information desk. Natalie caught sight of Derek over Jennifer’s shoulder and smiled, pointing him out to Jennifer as she turned to watch him approach.

Derek couldn’t help smiling. She looked gorgeous in a floral summer dress but her hair was falling out of its braid and she’d picked up a pencil from somewhere and it was stuck behind her ear. She was clearly exhausted but perked up when she saw him and leaned into him when he reached out to tug her against his waist.

“Derek,” Natalie smiled as she greeted him. “Maybe you can convince her to finally take a break.”

Derek looked at Jennifer with a frown. “You haven’t taken a break all day?”

“I’ve had things to do.”

“Well, there’s only a few hours left, I’m sure everything can be left to run itself now, right?” He looked at Natalie who nodded and shooed them away again. Derek was only too happy to comply, waving to Natalie as he pulled Jennifer towards the food trucks.

“But there’s a problem with the——”

“It can wait.”

“But the——”

“No.”

Jennifer was about to protest again but stopped and sniffed instead. She moaned and her stomach growled audibly. “Do I smell Mexican?”

“Yes.”

“Do they have taquitos?”

“They do.”

She started pulling Derek towards the truck. “I want like ten.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, I love you.”

“I know.” He laughed as she pushed at him for the joking response. He kissed her forehead. “I love you too.”

“Good. Now, get me taquitos.”

They shared a plate of heavily spiced and greasy Mexican food while they listened to one of the older bands play. Once the band finished and they’d thrown out their rubbish, Jennifer bought a stick of cotton candy. She laughed at Derek when he made a face as he took a bite — he’d never liked the texture. She seemed quite happy to finish it off herself, licking the residue from her fingers as they walked through the craft stalls and store promotional tents. Derek bought a lurid bright purple hair clip that he thought looked hideous but Jennifer seemed to love, pinning her falling hair up with a smile as he presented it to her. She bought him a red bowtie with tiny black Scottish terriers and insisted that since he was off-duty he could wear it. Derek let her button up his shirt fully and tie the bowtie.

Cora and Isaac were browsing the tents — or rather, Cora was dragging Isaac around while she haggled with the stall owners. Isaac started laughing when he saw Derek walk by and Cora was about to make a comment but Derek stole one of her churros with a grin. Jennifer laughed and took a bite when he offered it to her then she pulled him towards a stall filled with glass figurines.

Their fun ended just after the sun had fully set and the bright lights of the sporting fields and the temporary lanterns strung up around the stalls and stage were completely lit. The festival wasn’t over yet but the crowd had thinned and the demographics shifted to more towards older teens and couples than families with smaller children. Coach wandered past with a box full of wires and what looked alarmingly like sticks of dynamite and Jennifer ran after him with a yell. She turned around quickly to blow a kiss to Derek and mouth “Sorry!” before berating Finstock about the fireworks set up.

Derek knew she wouldn’t be back and he was supposed to be back on duty in an hour so he kept wandering, slowly making his way back towards the department tent — not eager to make it in time for the final photos. He’d done his time. He couldn’t even enjoy watching Parrish suffer with his own trauma so close to the surface. Luckily, he would only be on duty for the final hour of the festival and take down. A lot of the packing would be done in the morning, but they had to make sure the generators were locked down and the site secured for the night, leaving overnight security to the hired hands.

He saw his mother during his wanderings, chatting with other ladies on the committee. She got on rather too well with Victoria Argent, the challenging mayoral candidate for the next election, despite the fact that Derek had often heard her cursing the woman’s name while they were in the planning stages of the festival. Now, it seemed the two of them and Natalie Martin were holding court around the Garden — a fenced-off area with a bar and selected stalls selling home brews and wine. Talia waved as he passed by, holding up her drink in offer. Victoria’s usual sharp smile was in place as she also nodded to agree but it softened when she turned to her daughter, Allison, as she finished the story that had engaged the group.

Derek shook his head at the offer, tapping at his badge. He blushed as Talia’s gaze lingered at the base of his throat and she laughed. He quickly untied Jennifer’s gift bowtie and shoved it in his pocket. Talia was still laughing as Derek waved to her and the other ladies before he continued on his way.

It was a warm night and full of lights and laughter. Derek remembered quite a few nights like this in New York. Laura used to drag him around to every festival in the greater city limits, regardless of the theme or occasion. Food festivals, holiday celebrations, graduation bashes, and so many local fundraisers and pride festivals. There were bands and recitals and delicious food he’d never encountered before. Laura had loved it — the people, the crowd, the noise, the smell — and Derek had learned to enjoy himself too. He learned so much about himself and about the world just by joining in with the celebrations that everyone wanted to share with the world.

Derek found a spot near the stage, just out of the way but with a wide view of the bright stalls and the mass of laughing people. He pulled out his phone and took a picture, sending it to his older sister without a caption knowing she’d understand his message.

_Wish you were here._

 

 

 

Derek was making his way back to the department tent, navigating in the empty shadows behind the stalls when — for the second time that day — someone ran into him. He had to shake off the eerie sense of deja vu; he was stopped in almost the exact same spot as Stiles had run into him that morning.

It wasn’t Stiles, though; Derek had just seen him laughing with an attractive woman by one of the homemade soap stalls. He was still in his vest and shirt, but it was untucked and he’d lost the cape and top hat, leaving him looking dishevelled but somehow rakish as he grinned at his date. Derek hadn’t wanted to get caught staring, so he’d ducked behind the stalls instead of passing by in front to get to the department stall. He still couldn’t explain why he’d done it.

Right now, he was rather glad he had. Lydia Martin was shaking and pale in his arms as he tried to keep her upright. Her fingers dug into his forearms as she held on and stared up at him in surprise and dread.

“Lydia?” He didn’t know her well, just stories from Cora and the others, but they’d crossed paths, especially with their mothers quite friendly. He knew her well enough to be worried. “Lydia, what’s wrong?”

“I … I don’t know.” She shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. “There’s something. I need to go.”

She loosened her grip and Derek barely had time to notice she’d held on tight enough for her nails to draw blood. He grabbed her arm before she could pull away entirely.

“I’ll come with you, okay?”

She looked at him in relief and nodded. Derek let go of her arm and let her lead him further into the tent maze.

There was a small empty space just ahead and Lydia stopped at the edge with a gasp. Derek moved in front of her and almost stumbled over a ditch.

Piles of dirt dotted the small space, some sullying the back of tents. It wasn’t a natural ditch, the grooves in the dirt were too sharp and new. At the bottom, almost four feet deep, was a little boy — he was breathing but unconscious and his arm was broken but that wasn’t the worst of it. The smell of blood was so overpowering Derek didn’t know why he or someone else hadn’t noticed it before. The boy had been impaled in his side by what looked like sharpened bone. A femur, if Derek remembered his anatomy correctly.

Derek jumped into the ditch carefully, calling out for Lydia to stay put. He pressed on his radio as he checked the boy’s vitals and the severity of the wound.

“This is off-duty Deputy Hale. I have an injured and unconscious boy approximately six years of age behind the west sector food tents 300 yards from the stage. He is breathing but bleeding from a deep puncture wound to the side. I cannot confirm head or spinal injuries. I am requesting a paramedic and any first aid nearby that can help until an ambulance arrives as well as another officer on site. Over.”

“Copy that Hale,” Sheriff Stilinski answered himself. “I’ll be there with first aid ASAP. Over.”

“Copy that. I have a civilian with me, Lydia Martin. She’ll be by Mrs. Henderson’s soap stall ready to lead you to me. Over.” Derek looked at Lydia and she nodded in confirmation, her expression firming from horror to determination as she headed back to the bright stalls.

Derek did his best to pack the sluggish wound. The boy was breathing shallowly and his skin was pale and cool. In a way it was good that the bone was so sharp as the wound might be more easily dealt with but there were serious concerns for infection, especially given that this was human bone. It also wasn’t the only bone down at the bottom of the ditch. Derek was actually surprised that the boy hadn’t been hurt worse, given how many sharp protrusions sprung from the dug earth. It looked like a primitive animal trap but Derek could make out some carvings on the bones. He edged closer to try and make out any details but the sound of heavy feet rushing towards him had him calling out to draw the attention of his backup instead.

Derek pulled himself out of the ditch to let the on call paramedics work. They confirmed his initial call and added that there seemed to be no sign of head or spinal injury or further injuries though they would have to get the boy back to the hospital quickly to confirm complications about internal injuries. Derek let them work and filled the sheriff in on the situation while they waited for the ambulance to drive in close enough. He minimised Lydia’s involvement, to her obvious surprise, stating that he was helping her back to a more well lit area when they stumbled over the boy.

The paramedics got the boy to the ambulance with minimal trouble and they seemed hopeful for his recovery. The sheriff clapped Derek on the back before he moved away to call for backup to secure the site.

Derek took the opportunity to draw close to the ditch again, Lydia sidling up next to him and refusing to leave just yet. He was right; the bones were carved with symbols. And now, with the boy out of the pit, he could see that the bones in the bottom of the ditch were set up in a deliberate and patterned fashion. It wasn’t a trap — it was an altar, the sort he had only ever seen in the books in the library at home, mouldy ancient things that he and his sisters used to laugh at.

At his side, Lydia shivered. Derek looked at her and saw that same distracted expression on her face from when she ran into him as she stared at the altar.

“Lydia?”

“It sounds like death,” she said, her voice a whisper and a proclamation both at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A young boy is hurt when he falls into a ditch, at the bottom of which is an altar filled with sharpened bone. He is impaled (the wound non-fatal) bleeding and rendered unconscious. This is the point in the story where he is found and medical attention is given and it is confirmed that he will survive. There are descriptions of his body and injury but not of the actions leading to his injury.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets to know a new friend and catches up with some old friends (and Jackson).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief discussion of suicide towards the end of the chapter. Details are in the end notes.

Stiles didn’t exactly wake with the sun; it more seemed to ambush him at at a strange angle as he tried to wave it away with languid limbs. He tangled himself in soft sheets as he sat up and looked around in confusion. This was not his room and he was naked.

A familiar face smiled at him from inside a silver photo frame on the bedside table and he relaxed at the sight. Caitlin. His host was cooking eggs somewhere beyond the bedroom door and seemed to enjoy the white noise of morning television.

Stiles untangled himself and searched for his boxers on the floor. He detoured to the ensuite to refresh a little and make sure he didn’t look completely hideous before he presented himself.

Caitlin turned and smiled as he shuffled into the kitchen. His hand fell from the back of his head where it had been poised to scratch in an unconscious gesture of nervousness. Stiles returned the smile and sat at one of the bench stools to watch Caitlin cook.

She was just as underdressed as he — moving around in socks, panties and a t-shirt. Her hair was already falling out of her messy ponytail. The only time Stiles hadn’t seen her hair in disarray was the previous night when he ran into her at the festival.

Caitlin had been standing by one of the game stalls watching an enthusiastic ring-toss battle between two of the current high school lacrosse players that had drawn a large crowd. Apparently they had the sort of rivalry that the entire town knew about and subtly encouraged for its own entertainment — like Stiles and Jackson but way less one-sided and laughable. Caitlin had been cheering along with the rest of the crowd watching as the boys shoved at each other to try and get an advantage.

Stiles had been about to walk over and say something witty and charming to get her attention but she’d looked up mid-laugh and her smile seemed to grow when she caught sight of him. She waved and he gave a small wave back and would have walked on but she’d gestured him over with a tilt of her head that had Stiles thinking about body language and old encounters at college bars. So, instead, he grinned and sauntered over, enjoying how she looked him up and down as he approached. He let himself linger over her own fitted red shirt and dark jeans. Casual but striking, especially framed by her long dark hair, straight and free from the ponytail he usually saw her sporting. She tucked it behind one ear when she noticed him looking.

“I like the outfit,” she said when he stood beside her.

“You should see what I can do with it.” Stiles closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands as she laughed. “Oh my god, I am having the worst day with entendres. I meant, magic tricks — coloured scarves and bunnies, not, you know, oh my god.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s definitely working another kind of magic on you.”

Stiles lowered his hands just enough to peek at her playful expression. She was leaning towards him and smiling. Stiles let his hands fall completely, feeling his heart beat faster. He was not reading this situation wrong at all.

Looking at the dispersing crowd and the crowing victor of the epic ring toss battle, Stiles took some initiative and cocked his elbow towards Caitlin with a flourish. “Well, if you’re interested in some company, maybe we could find a little more magic tonight.”

Caitlin cupped her hand over her mouth to stiffle her sudden giggles. Stiles just waited her out with a bashful smile.

“You’re kind of terrible when you’re trying too hard, you know that?” she said when she composed herself.

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, but I own it.”

Caitlin tilted her head and tucked her arm against his with a teasing smile. “Yeah, you kind of do.”

Caitlin had that same smile on her face when she invited him home after they had exhausted the entertainment of the festival. It reappeared again when she leaned in to kiss him at her door then pulled him inside by his vest. Stiles already had many fond memories of what that smile implied.

She wore a different smile that morning when she placed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Stiles. Tired but sated and pleased. Stiles was pretty sure he looked ridiculous grinning at a plate of eggs but it didn’t seem to deter Caitlin, who slid onto the stool beside him with her own plate. She’d already put out two cups of coffee and the milk and sugar. Stiles helped himself to his usual black with four sugars.

“So,” Caitlin said after they’d woken up with a few bites and a cup of coffee each. “I figure next time you can look after breakfast, unless you’re very fond of eggs and burnt toast. Or cereal. I think I could manage to pour a bowl or two.”

Stiles swallowed his bite of toast as he looked over at Caitlin. “Next time?”

She shrugged and took an unhurried swallow of coffee. “Sure, if you’re interested.”

“Interested, as in ...?”

“Sex.” She looked at him directly in the eyes before breaking away to stare at her plate. “You already know that I broke up with my fiance. It was a few months ago, but she kind of broke my heart. I’m not looking for that kind of relationship and it was quite adamantly pointed out that my job isn’t really flexible enough to sustain one right now.”

“Harsh.”

Caitlin smiled at his assessment. “I get it. _Now_. But still, a serious relationship isn’t what I’m interested in at the moment.” She took a sip of coffee as Stiles reacted to her frank commentary. “So …?”

“So …” Stiles nodded and thought it over. Caitlin was fun and intelligent and didn’t immediately hate Stiles’ sense of humour. They had great chemistry and she was just so easy to understand in the bedroom. Sex wasn’t going to be a problem.

Looking around at Caitlin’s apartment, Stiles could see the gaps where parts of her life — her former relationship — had been torn away. Some had been filled — photos on the wall, gaps in the DVD collection carefully spaced to hide the missing discs — but there were still a lot of reminders — the huge gap in the living room and the indents in the carpet where a heavy chair had obviously sat — that were probably still bothering Caitlin. She probably wasn’t ready to move on yet but strings-free sex with a guy she enjoyed spending time with might seem like a great idea.

Stiles, though … He knew himself well enough to give her proposal serious consideration. When he fell, he fell hard. He’d had one-night stands and casual relationships before but Stiles never enjoyed them as much and had stopped seeking them out in his last years in college. Not that his last few serious relationships were much more fulfilling. At least with the more casual relationships he knew exactly what he was getting into and never had to worry about getting his heart broken without warning.

If nothing else, it would take his mind off the incredibly unavailable guy he was starting to pine over (if Stiles refused to name him or think too hard about it, maybe it would go away). Already being infatuated, Stiles wouldn’t throw himself too deep into a relationship with Caitlin and screw up their pre-determined casual status by falling in love.

Plus, regular sex with someone who enjoyed having fun as much as he did was fantastic.

Stiles nodded, making his decision. “Okay.”

Caitlin looked over at him with a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Last night was great. I’d love to see what else we might enjoy together.”

“I’m glad.”

Caitlin took a bite of her eggs and Stiles returned his attention to his own breakfast. He smiled around a mouthful of coffee as he felt Caitlin’s foot trail up his calf.

 

 

 

Stiles spotted Lydia’s distinctive and elegantly styled hair at the opposite end of the diner as soon as he entered. He was probably a little hypersensitive to her presence at the moment considering how late he was for their lunch date. Luckily, Allison had been on time and must have convinced Lydia to order a starter. Stiles was quite happy to sacrifice food to forestall Lydia’s wrath.

Allison was the first to notice his arrival. Her greeting smile was very amused. Stiles looked down at his outfit but couldn't see anything wrong. She laughed as he shrugged in confusion. Stiles had finally arrived at their table and was about to ask her what was so amusing but, looking at the table's occupants, Stiles immediately understood.

Jackson Whittemore sat opposite Lydia at the table, face as irritatingly beautiful and smug as Stiles remembered. Danny sat on Jackson's other side and sent a quick wave and smile in Stiles' direction. Stiles managed a tight smile in return — he was glad to see Danny, seeing Jackson at the same time just upset him.

"I take it your college lacked the sort of discipline that encourages punctuality."

The other seated occupants of the table let out a soft groan so perfectly in unison that Stiles would have been impressed if he hadn’t been so incensed by Jackson's criticism. Because Jackson had fully embraced the east coast and Stiles had the audacity to turn down Columbia, nevermind that he couldn't afford it without the scholarships that he was offered at several of the other colleges he applied. Stiles didn’t know if it was worse than their petty bickering in high school but it definitely felt just as childish.

Jackson sat there, gleefully waiting for Stiles to lose his cool like he did back in high school when Jackson was in front of him. But Stiles liked to think he had matured since the last time he and Jackson spoke. Also, he had just spent that morning engaged in some truly fantastic sexual activities with a gorgeous girl and he was not really interested in letting Jackson spoil his good mood.

“Nice to see you haven’t changed Jackson.” Stiles walked around the table to clap Jackson on his shoulder, enjoying the confused sputter in lieu of a smart-mouthed reply from Jackson. He reached around to shake Danny’s hand. “Good to see you again, Danny.” Stiles moved the other side and leaned down to kiss Allison’s cheek. “Hey Ally, sorry I’m late.”

“Not just me you should apologise to.” Stiles didn’t need her to dip her head towards the woman seated next to her, he could already feel Lydia glaring at him.

“Yeah, I know.” Stiles rose and moved to Lydia’s other side, taking the available chair at the end of the table and trying to not wince as Lydia’s gaze met his. “I’m so sorry I’m late Lydia.”

“By almost an hour.” Her voice was hard and her words clipped.

“I know.”

Lydia’s gaze narrowed as she took in his freshly showered and groomed appearance. “I hope they were worth the extra time.”

Stiles barely registered Jackson’s disbelieving laugh turning into a coughing fit, momentarily caught up in remembering. “Oh yeah,” he said, smiling, “she was.” He cleared his throat when he noticed his reply hadn’t changed anything about Lydia’s annoyance. “Which is clearly the wrong answer, because of course my first priority is always spending time with one of my best friends whom I haven’t seen in so long and love dearly. So dearly, in fact, that I am willing to pay for her incredibly decadent dessert.”

Lydia sniffed, finally turning her deadly gaze from him. “It’ll do for now. We’ll talk coffee later.”

Stiles let out a breath and smiled around at everyone at the table as he grabbed a menu. “All right, food.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for you,” Lydia said as she snatched the menu from his grasp.

Stiles started to protest then deflated. “I accept this punishment.”

“Good. Now, Jackson, I have to say I much prefer this haircut to the last and I am certain everyone at this table agrees with me. Allison definitely does. She thought the last one made you look like a deranged stockbroker who just lost three billion dollars and was trying to drink himself to death.”

“Lydia! Jackson, that’s not what I said or meant to imply.”

“I would have said that, maybe not quite so colourfully.”

“Danny! You said it made me look like Christian Bale.”

“I lied.”

“But Jacinta ——”

“Had no taste and fewer brain cells than a fish.”

The rest of the meal was filled with teasing and laughter and anecdotes of time spent apart. Jackson was clearly so comfortable in New York it was hard to see why he would come back to Beacon Hills even for a visit. But then, he would smile at something Lydia or Danny said and Stiles would be reminded that Jackson was a person too with feelings and problems and emotional connections, much as he tried to act otherwise.

They’d all grown up. None of them had changed, exactly, but they were somehow _more_ than they were before. Jackson was more confident in himself, not just fronting for approval — as enthusiastic about the responsibilities of a leadership position as the rewards. Danny was more open about himself, getting caught up in explaining something he loved about his job — admiring his team as much as criticising them. Allison was more outgoing, making friends easily and allowing herself to trust as she learned to work in a team with life-changing responsibilities. Everyone had started to settle into their futures even if they still weren't fully planned.

Lydia, of course, had her future planned out before high school and was probably working on a plan for world domination in her spare time. She had finally shed most of her insecurities about her intelligence and loneliness and had created a thriving network of friends and peers all over the country while at MIT. She would likely always be the sort of person who others were drawn to and inspired by.

Which made it strange that she had spent most of the meal in silence.

Stiles watched her stifle a yawn as Jackson and Allison argued about football teams while trying to seem completely engaged. Her makeup was impeccable as always but she couldn't do much about the faint red rimming the white of her eyes.

Lydia had a sixth sense about people scrutinising her appearance. She caught Stiles staring and tried to glare him into submission but he was actually concerned and refused to be cowed. Her meal sat half eaten and she hadn't touched the entrees. When she noticed Stiles looking at her plate she didn't roll her eyes to say he was worrying over nothing. Instead, she avoided his gaze.

A quick glance at Allison told him that Lydia hadn’t spoken with her about what was wrong. Allison was laughing as she mocked Jackson's sporting choices, ganging up with Danny.

Stiles didn’t say anything. Lydia relaxed as he joined in on the banter. His fake disgust almost turned real when it turned out he and Jackson had similar tastes. Lydia smiled along and managed a few sharp jabs by the time dessert was finished. She still kept avoiding looking directly at Stiles.

It wasn’t long after coffee that fidgeting started. Allison frowned at her watch and reluctantly stood up, citing work as her reason for leaving. Jackson and Danny followed her example. They took their time fixing the bill before parting ways out the front of the diner with promises to catch up again soon.

Stiles and Lydia stood alone by the door. Lydia opened her mouth to offer a terrible excuse to leave but Stiles cut her off. “I believe I owe you another coffee.”

Lydia smiled, that horrible fake twist of her lips Stiles used to pine after in high school before he noticed how empty her eyes looked framed by it. “Thank you, but, I think I’ve had enough caffeine today.”

“An energising fruit smoothie then.”

Lydia’s smile dropped. “Stiles——”

Stiles gave up on any pretense. “You’re not talking to Allison about whatever it is that’s bothering you so either she can’t help or she’s involved or it’s something you just can’t bring yourself to tell her. Now, while I might not be the most sensitive person around, I can guarantee that there is nothing you could say that would have me looking at you differently or turning against you or freaking out or whatever you think might happen if you somehow share whatever’s wrong.”

Lydia had closed her mouth during Stiles’ earnest speech and stared at him as he waited anxiously for her response. She closed her eyes and sighed, tension dropping from her shoulders like and almost physical weight. “Fine. I almost think I should be demanding alcohol for this conversation, but it’s too early to get drunk and I have plans tomorrow.”

“Frozen yoghurt?”

"I like the place on Main. I'll meet you there." She didn’t wait for his response before stalking over to her car and driving off.

It was a five minute drive from the diner to Main Street. Thankfully, it wasn’t long enough for Lydia to rethink her stance. She waited by the entrance to the pink and cream coloured shop for Stiles to arrive. She greeted him with a dictation of her order and he let her choose their seat — at the front window, close to the door — while he waited for their orders to be made.

Stiles waited for Lydia to finish her first bite before saying, “You know it’s better to just blurt it all out without caring how it sounds, right?”

Lydia glared at him over her cup before she glanced around at the other patrons of the shop — teenagers avoiding the heat of the afternoon and bothering the listless server who could barely muster a glare — before shrugging. “You say that now.”

“Lydia, whatever it is, it’s upsetting you and it won’t be long before everyone notices. At the very least I can help you come up with a plausible lie.”

She smiled at that but it faded quickly. “Last night, I found a boy injured behind the tents at the festival.”

“Oh, wow.”

“It was pretty bad. He was unconscious and bleeding out. He fell into a hole and was impaled. There was this pile of sharpened bones. It was awful. The paramedics said we found him just in time.”

“We?”

“This is the strange part. I don’t remember walking anywhere behind the tents. One minute I’m on my way to meet Allison and our mothers and the next I’m running into Derek Hale near Mrs. Henderson’s foul soap stand. Then, I practically drag Derek right to where the boy is. He hadn’t been screaming or crying and you couldn’t even notice this ditch until you were right by it, so how did I know he was there?”

“Lydia.” Stiles reached out to grab a napkin and cleaned up some of the yoghurt that spilled over as Lydia crushed the cup in her hands while her voice grew more frantic as she continued talking. She looked down and unclenched her hand and took the napkin from Stiles to finish cleaning herself. Stiles watched her but she refused to look up from her busy hands.

“Lydia,” he tried again. “You know you probably helped save that boy’s life.”

“I know. I heard the paramedics. He was in shock and children don’t have as much blood to lose as adults, then there was the potential perforated organs … god, until I heard he was stable I just felt like screaming.”

She was finally done with her hands and she looked up to meet Stiles’ gaze when he covered them with his own. Stiles opened his mouth to try and comfort her but she cut him off before he could say a word. “This isn’t the first time it's happened. Last time there was a body.”

Stiles couldn’t say anything; he just held her gaze as the tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

“I was in town visiting my mom and I took a shortcut down one of the alleys by the cinemas. I don’t know why. I only remembered going shopping. It was a girl. About our age. Hanging by the neck from the fire escape with her wrists cut.”

“God, Lydia.” Stiles squeezed her hands tight between his and she jolted at the touch, blinking as though she’d forgot he was there.

She twisted their hands so she could squeeze back. “This is really crazy. I don’t know why I’m telling you my paranoid fantasies.”

“I don’t think it’s paranoid.”

Lydia smiled at him. “Thank you. At least someone believes that.”

“It’s true though.” Stiles frowned as he tried to explain. “The girl, it was a suicide, right?”

“According to the police. She’d apparently taken a lethal dose of sleeping pills as well.”

“She tried killing herself three times just to make sure?”

Lydia glared. “I didn’t know her. Was I supposed to ascertain her mental state by looking at her corpse?”

“No, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just … that level of commitment and planning is unusual. Two failsafes? Like, the pills and the wrists I get, but the hanging?”

Lydia shrugged. “Obviously she took the pills first, so her reasoning would have been affected.”

“You’re right but … I don’t know. If she'd cut herself, how did she have the strength to hang herself?"

"Stiles!"

Stiles took in Lydia’s tight expression and the tear tracks still glistening on her cheeks and winced. "Sorry. It just seems weird to me.”

“Maybe it didn’t to her.”

“Still … Did you scream?”

“What?”

“When you found her. Did you scream?”

Lydia yanked her hands out of Stiles’ grasp leaving his fingers twitching at empty air. “What sort of question is that?”

Lydia started to stand but Stiles jumped up before she could and held onto her arm to stop her from leaving. “Humour me, please. Did you scream?”

“Yes.”

“Like, crying and hysterical or bloodcurdling warning siren?”

Lydia scoffed and shook her head and made to move past him but Stiles jumped in front of her and raised his arms to halt her passage. “It’s important, I promise.”

“You know, you actually had me believing it was good idea to confide in you.”

“It is, I promise. I’m trying to help. I have a theory, okay, I just need you to answer the question.”

Lydia stomped her foot and glared at him, her jaw clenched. “Fine. It was like a siren. I felt like all the energy in my body escaped with the sound. It … it felt like I'd been scared awake.”

“Okay.” Stiles let his arms fall but Lydia didn’t try to escape immediately. Stiles looked her in the eye and swallowed. “Okay, so I definitely have a theory. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it, though.”

“Just tell me so I can go.”

Stiles took another bracing breath and said, “What do you know about banshees?”

Lydia stared at him as though trying to understand his words. A small sound escaped her throat and she held a hand to her lips as she shook her head. She pushed past Stiles with her other hand and he let her go. His hand twitched towards her but he stopped himself from doing anything and watched her leave.

She stopped with one hand on the door and looked back at him. Stiles was hopeful until he saw her tears.

“My grandmother was the last person who said that word to me. She killed herself not too long after. In Eichen House.”

Stiles couldn’t say anything to that and just watched through through the window of the shop as she got into her car across the street and drove away. He threw away their congealed deserts before leaving himself.

 

 

 

Stiles woke suddenly, his body almost rocking vertical from the jolt. He was in his bed in his room and the only light was the faint illumination of the moon and stars from his window. He didn’t remember going to bed. The last thing he remembered was Lydia walking away in tears.

He flopped back onto his pillow and started running his hand over his face but stopped almost immediately. His hand was covered in grit.

He reached out to switch on the lamp by his bed and stared, uncomprehending, at the dirt covering his hands and forearms. Looking further down, he could see his sheets stained with more dirt and his shirt and pants stained with mud and grass. Particles of leaves and bark were caught in the material and he could feel sharp twigs poking into the soles of his feet. He winced as he reached down to brush them away from the tender skin.

It felt like something was tugging him, hooked into his gut and reeling him somewhere. Stiles wrapped his arms around himself and tried to wish it away, humming as though mindless sound might make him feel better like it had when he was younger. It only seemed to make his stomach roil as he curled into himself.

What was happening? Why did he feel like this? Stiles wanted to scream himself and cry until he was exhausted. He clamped his mouth shut, squeezed his eyes closed, covered his ears with his hands and tried to pretend he was dreaming.

When none of that worked, he scrambled around in his nightstand — already overflowing with junk after a few weeks back home — for his sleeping pills. He took two dry before curling up in his bed and covering himself completely with his blanket despite the warm night.

He absolutely could not feel the pull in his gut tug harder the closer he drew to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of suicide is brief and in context of case/past event. Lydia found the body of a woman who police determined committed suicide. Her injuries are described. Stiles ignores Lydia’s feelings about the situation to get more detail, seemingly disrespecting the trauma she and the girl went through. Lydia also mentions her grandmother's suicide at Eichen House. None of the characters experience or promote suicidal thoughts or actions.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [ladyvialana](http://ladyvialana.tumblr.com/)


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